The White Winds
by Tikatu
Summary: Movie verse. Another boring year at Wharton Academy for Alan and Fermat... or is it? Complete.
1. Unpleasant Surprise

_Author's Note: _Never, ever thought I'd be doing this, writing a movie-verse fic. _Masquerade_ will come first, but I'll keep up with this one, I promise. The places are real, but Wharton is not. Neither is Silas James Wharton of pioneer fame... I hope. But here it is. I hope you like it. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

**ETA: January 31, 2010.** An anonymous reviewer has taken me to task about this story being in the TV-verse section when it's movie-verse. They should know that I did move this to the movie-verse section when that was created, but moved it back here in late March, 2010, when the site gave us a "World" filter that allows readers to choose which universe they want to read. So, yes, this is in the right section, very clearly marked with the filter for movie-verse. If you don't want to see it in the line up, filter it out. More information on the filter can be found at the _Classic Thunderbirds Forum._

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"Nestled in the Berkshires just west of Mount Greylock is the tiny town of New Ashford, where you will find one of the most exclusive boys' schools in the world, Wharton Academy. Established in 1875, it is named after Silas James Wharton of pioneer fame... You will find that the courses at Wharton will challenge your youngster to fulfill his academic potential, while providing an environment to stimulate his thirst for learning and help him develop a keen sense of fair play... yeah, right." Alan Tracy tossed the brochure he had picked up at the admissions office into the nearest trash can. He was on his way back out of the main office building after checking in for another year of school at Wharton. It looked to be a boring one, especially when compared to the most soul-satisfying summer he had ever known. His father, billionaire ex-astronaut Jeff Tracy, had allowed him to begin training for the most elite and secret rescue organization on the face of the planet, International Rescue. He was a Thunderbird now. A Thunderbird in training, that much was true, but a Thunderbird nonetheless.

"H-H-Hey, Alan!" came the voice of his best friend and fellow trainee, Fermat Hackenbacker. The younger boy was waving his arms frantically over his head, and Alan redirected his footsteps toward Fermat. Standing by the limousine was Alan's father, Jeff, and his next-oldest brother, Gordon. They were looking over the campus map with Fermat's father, Hiram, otherwise known as "Brains".

"So, what dorm are you in this year?" Jeff asked with a smile as Alan approached them.

"Chetwood," Alan said with a sigh, handing over the paperwork that the office had given him.

Hiram and Jeff exchanged frowns. "Ch-Ch-Chetwood?" Hiram asked, his stutter making it difficult for him to pronounce the word. "F-F-F, my son is in M-Maplewood."

"I thought we specified that you two were to room together," Jeff added, his frown quickly becoming a scowl. "I'd better look into this. C'mon, Alan, Fermat." With that, the rangy multi-billionaire strode off, Alan and Fermat hurrying to catch up.

"I sh-sh-sh.. ought to go, t-too," Hiram told Gordon as he set off in the wake of the threesome.

Gordon shrugged, and climbed back into the limo, pulling out his personal music player and slipping in his earphones. Within minutes he was playing air drums with his favorite band.

"I'm Jeff Tracy and I'd like to see the person in charge of housing," Jeff said politely. The secretary offered the men a seat, and called the director on the phone, telling him that Mr. Tracy wanted to see him. Now, usually the Tracy name carried a lot of weight, and people stumbled all over themselves to be of service to the decorated astronaut. But someone, it seemed, had forgotten to tell the director of student housing just _who he was_. It was a good twenty minutes of cooling their heels and reading the wholesome boys' magazines (several of them defaced with interesting graffiti inside) that were scattered in the waiting room.

Finally, the director came out. She was a tall thin woman with graying hair pulled back severely from her face and gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck. Dressed in a conservative navy skirt and a school blazer, she looked down her thin nose through a pair of slightly tinted glasses at the men and boys gathered outside. Jeff, always polite, rose to his feet, and Hiram followed suit.

The director gave them both a tight-lipped smile, and extended a cool, thin hand. "Mr. Tracy, I am Mrs. Belvedere, director of student affairs, including housing. Please come into my office."

"This is my associate, Professor Hiram Hackenbacker," Jeff said, indicating the rumpled scientist. "His son is involved in this situation as well."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Belvedere, extending a hand to Hiram who, looking rather flustered, took it. "Please, gentlemen. This way."

"Boys," Jeff said, packing a load of warning into the word. "We'll be right back." He and Hiram disappeared into the office, and the director closed the door behind them.

Alan sighed and nudged Fermat. "Whattaya wanna bet that my dad has us rooming together within ten minutes?"

Fermat raised an eyebrow behind his blue-rimmed glasses. "I'd say it would take him... f-f-fifteen."

"Fifteen? Are you out of your gourd?" Alan exclaimed, incredulous. "No way!"

"Are you g-g-going to put your money where your m-m-mouth is?" Fermat said slyly, nudging Alan back.

"Ten bucks."

"Only t-t-ten? You don't have m-m-much faith in your f-f-f... dad, do you?"

"Okay. Ten bucks, and the loser cleans the bathroom for the next month."

Fermat stuck out a pudgy hand. "Done."

The boys didn't notice the passage of time as they picked up one of the magazines, the one with the most interesting graffiti in it, their heads bent together as they chuckled over it. Suddenly the door to Mrs. Belvedere's office opened, and Jeff walked out, still scowling, a frowning Hiram in his wake. The two boys looked up, and Alan gave a quick glance to his watch._ Twenty-five minutes! _He was so shocked at the time it took for his father to deal with the problem that he didn't hear his father turn to Mrs. Belvedere, who had followed them to the door, and say, "The board of directors will be hearing from me."

"A-a-and from m-m-me," echoed Hiram. He turned to the boys, "C'mon, F-F-F... s-s-s... c'mon boys." He put a hand on the shoulder of a puzzled Fermat and guided him out of the waiting area.

"Alan," Jeff said sharply. Alan nodded, then fell into line before his father.

"So? Did you get it straightened out?" he asked cheerfully.

"No," Jeff huffed, as they left the building and headed to the limo.

Alan halted in his tracks. "No? What do you mean 'no'? I mean, wasn't it some kind of mistake?"

"N-n-n-no, Alan," Hiram said, turning to face him. Fermat stopped climbing into the limo and looked questioningly at his father. "Mrs. B-B-B... that woman had arguments for s-s-se... splitting you up."

"Like what?" Alan asked angrily.

Jeff glanced at his son standing there, noting that the way he folded his arms and planted his feet screamed his anger and defiance, and sighed heavily. "Get into the car, son. We can talk about it there."

Alan hesitated for a second, then dropped his arms and followed Fermat into the limo. Hiram and Jeff ducked in behind them. Gordon looked up at the solemn group. "So, what happened, Dad?"

"I wasn't able to accomplish much," Jeff answered sourly. The older Tracy instructed the driver to take them to the dormitory square, then he sat on the edge of the smooth leather seat and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his hands dropping loosely between his legs. He took a short breath, and said to the younger boys, "Mrs. Belvedere thinks that splitting you up would be good for both of you..."

Both boys started to protest, but Jeff stopped them with a motion of his hand. "Let me finish. She thinks that without Fermat for you to 'lean on' academically, you'd have to put forth a better effort of your own. And, she feels that Fermat would be better off without your...'dubious influence' is the phrase she used."

"Sh-Sh-She thinks that Alan is a bad influence on you, s-s-son," Hiram said softly, putting a hand on Fermat's shoulder. "And she th-thinks you'd do better with someone of your own a-a-a... scholastic level."

"What? Alan a 'dubious influence'?" Gordon quipped, ruffling his brother's blond hair. "She doesn't know the half of it, does she, sprout?"

Alan batted him away irritably. "Get off, Gordon. And don't call me 'sprout'." He turned to his father. "She just doesn't see it, does she?" Alan said, his tone indicating his disgust. "There's more involved than just influence and academics."

"Y-Y-Yeah!" Fermat exclaimed. "We're friends and we sh-share a common s-s-secret. There's no one else I can t-t-t... converse with about you and your work, Dad."

"Same here, Dad. Sometimes I'm so excited about what you are doing that I've got to talk to someone about it or just bust!" Alan explained.

Jeff smiled a little. "I guess I can understand that."

Fermat nodded as he glanced over at Jeff Tracy. "Plus there's the protection..."

"Protection? From what?" Jeff asked, suddenly concerned and puzzled. "Why do you need protection?"

"You weren't supposed to tell them, sport," Alan said, giving Fermat a nudge. He faced his father and sighed. "When Fermat first came here, he was the target of a lot of teasing and abuse. Being so young and so smart, y'know."

"Don't forget the s-s-stutter," Fermat piped up. "Alan stuck up f-for me. K-K-Kept the bullies away."

"Sounds like our Alan," Gordon mentioned. "Always spoiling for a fight." Alan swatted his brother, and Gordon put up both hands in a protective gesture, grinning.

Hiram frowned. "Why didn't you s-s-s... speak up, son?"

"I was a-a-af... scared you'd take me away from here. Send me to a school where I would kn-kn-kn... have no friends at all."

"Hmm. You're p-p-pr... most likely right, son," Hiram admitted.

"Why couldn't you change this, Dad?" Alan asked, almost pleading.

"Because the woman thinks she has power, that's why," Jeff said. "But don't worry, son. I'm going over her head on this one."

"Heh. She's gonna know not to mess with Jeff Tracy, isn't she, Dad?" Gordon said smugly.

"If I have anything to say about it, yes."

"Dad? Why can't you just pull us from Wharton? I'm sure at another school..." Alan asked.

"Alan, it's too late in the year to think about another school. It would be a tremendous hassle to find one with an opening at this point, and you and Fermat would end up being behind in your classes. Besides, I think I can sway the board of directors at their meeting next month."

"Next month?" both boys asked in unison.

The limo had stopped, and Jeff looked out the tinted window to see that they were parked in front of Maplewood dormitory. "Listen, boys. You're going to have to make the best of it for now. I'll get it straightened out as soon as I can. Trust me on this, Alan, Fermat." He smiled at the two boys. "Can you tough it out for a month?"

Alan sighed. "I guess we can... for a month," he said, a small rueful smile on his face.

"Fermat?" Hiram prompted softly.

"Yes, Mr. Tracy. I'll m-m-make the best of it. For now," the younger boy said glumly.

"Well, we're here at Maplewood. I guess we'd better get you unpacked and settled, Fermat," Jeff said, trying to sound positive.

"C'mon, sport," Alan said as he climbed out after his friend. "It won't be that bad. We'll still meet for lunch and dinner and stuff. And we can study together."

"And it's o-o-only for a month, right?" Fermat said, turning to Alan and holding out his fist.

"Right," Alan said with a grin, touching his own fist to his friend's.


	2. Unpacking

_Author's note: _Review responses at the bottom this time. Just to let you all know, this fic focuses on Alan and Fermat and their time at Wharton after the movie. But don't worry, the rest of the family will weigh in as well. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Fermat was pleased to find that he was the first occupant of his room to arrive. "Means I can t-t-t... have the lower bunk!" He slung his heavy backpack, filled with the books he and his father had purchased, onto the aforementioned bed. 

"Third f-f-f... story! Good thing there's an el-el-el... elevator!" Brains declared, smiling at his son's obvious pleasure.

"Whew! I agree! I'd hate to have to climb those stairs everyday... several times a day," Gordon quipped. He pulled a luggage float, piled with boxes of Fermat's belongings, behind him. Most of the other boys in the dorm were waiting for the maintenance men to help them with their bags.

Jeff had shaken his head in disbelief at the pampered ones; he had always taught his sons to do as much as they could for themselves, a habit he knew would hold them in good stead all of their lives. So, he sent Gordon and Alan out in search of something to carry the heavier things, and helped Brains and Fermat unload the trunk of the limo. The driver offered to help, and Jeff nodded. Together they sorted out the individual boxes, and the driver carefully put Alan's things back into the trunk.

The room was spacious, with a desk for each of the two students who would be living there, as well as two chifforobe-type closets. Having been in the dorms before, and knowing their layout, Gordon and Alan were able to help Fermat put away his clothes and linens in the drawers and shelves of the wardrobe, hanging up what needed it, and neatly laying out Fermat's shoes and boots on the floor of the closet side. While they worked, Jeff moved the books then took the time to make Fermat's bed, tucking in the sheets and blankets with military precision. When he was done, he glanced around and, seeing everyone else occupied, he took a coin from his pocket and dropped it on the bed. It bounced. He smiled, satisfied, and moved over to help unload the books.

Brains, in the meantime, was piecing together the parts of Fermat's computer. It was a laptop/desktop combination, one of the best on the market, and enhanced with Hiram Hackenbacker's unique and efficient upgrades. The main component of the computer, the laptop, could be easily disconnected from the screen and the stationary CPU for mobile work, but when it was plugged into the rest of the outfit, the processing power increased tenfold, and the screen, a thin, flat plasma model, made it easy for Fermat to see, even with his poor vision. This model was special as they were beta testing a wireless modem that connected the computer's hidden, tertiary hard drive directly to Thunderbird Five using a dizzying series of major and minor satellites to bounce the signal around the globe. Brains unconsciously hummed while he worked; he loved the challenge of fitting the puzzle pieces of technology together. Suddenly, he was struck with a thought, and he looked over at his son, then at Jeff.

"G-G-Gordon? Close the door, please?"

Jeff could hear the seriousness in his chief engineer's tone and asked, "What's wrong, Brains?"

"I-I-I just realized something. The boys aren't g-g-g... won't be able to use th-th-the new drive."

Jeff frowned. "Hmm. You're right. If the two of you were rooming together, it wouldn't be a problem. But since you're going to have roommates that know nothing about our operations..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head. "You can't use the hidden drive."

Alan huffed out a frustrated breath. "Aw, Dad! That's not fair! We want to know what's going on when you're on a mission!"

"We'd be really c-c-careful. Use it only when n-no one else was around," Fermat chimed in.

The two fathers exchanged glances, and both shook their heads. "N-N-No, son. It's much t-t-t... it's risky," Hiram said regretfully.

"Hey, look at it this way," Gordon suddenly said. "It's one more reason to get the two of you rooming together again. Add it to the list, Dad."

Jeff snorted a chuckle. "It's not a reason I'll be able to share with the board of directors, but it's one I'll keep in mind. C'mon, let's finish up here and get Alan moved in."

The five got back to work, and before they knew it, all of Fermat's belongings were unpacked and put away. He looked around at his room, still half-bare since his roommate had not yet arrived, but feeling a bit more like home.

"The c-c-computer tests out fine, son," Brains said as he finished up his task. "You'd b-b-b... time to shut it down."

Fermat moved over to his desk, sliding the ergonomic chair that had been brought especially for him out from under it and sitting before the screen. He began shutdown procedures, and when asked for a password, typed in something rather long. Brains smiled at him knowingly; he knew his son's mind and where it would be for the rest of the school year when not focused on studies: back home at Tracy Island with the magnificent Thunderbirds. The computer shut down with a slightly saucy "Goodbye, Fermat!" startling the boy, and putting a slow grin on both Gordon's and Alan's faces. The feminine voice was that of Tin-Tin Belegant, their female friend and daughter of Jeff's retainer, Kyrano and Kyrano's wife, housekeeper Onaha.

For the first time, Tin-Tin was going away to school, too, but to a school in England, close to Jeff's good friend and International Rescue agent, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, who promised she would keep an eye on the girl. Alan sighed and his grin faded as he thought of Tin-Tin; they had been through training together over the summer and had the adventure of a lifetime battling her uncle and Jeff's nemesis, Trangh Belegant, known to police around the world as the Hood. Alan knew that English schools ran on different timetables than American ones, and that he and Fermat couldn't count on seeing her at home when they had vacations from school. The next time they would all be together again would be Christmas and that seemed a lifetime away.

Jeff looked around with satisfaction. "I think we're done here." He turned to his youngest son. "Alan, it's your turn."

The five men left the room, and Fermat put his palm up to the door's locking device, keying in the code he had memorized. "W-W-Wait a minute," he said. He grabbed Alan by the hand. "I want to program this to accept your input, t-too." He glanced over at Brains. "Y-Yours, too, Dad. Never know when it might be useful."

Alan grinned and put his hand up to the palm print scanner. The boys were allowed to program two people other than themselves into their door locks. Fermat was good at programming anything; getting the lock mechanism's silicon brain to accept first Alan's, then Hiram's palm prints was the work of a few moments. "There. N-Now you can get in any time," Fermat said with satisfaction.

"Good work, Fermat," said Jeff, smiling. "Now, let's find Chetwood."

Alan's first floor room already showed signs of occupancy. The lower bunk was made, one of the wardrobes was full, and there was a laptop computer sitting closed on one of the desks. The teen shrugged; he was used to the top bunk from living with Fermat. Jeff found making that bed a bit more of a challenge than he had found Fermat's to be, but in the end the coin bounced and he was satisfied. The drill was pretty much the same for Alan's things as it had been for Fermat's with the exception of a sleek, compact sound system. Brains had tested it thoroughly and had set the volume and bass levels so that the major complaint that Alan's neighbors had filed the year before, that of music played too loud, would be eliminated. Alan didn't mind; he was sure that between Fermat and himself, they could get around Brains's lockouts. Gordon was the one who put the whole thing together, muttering all the time that he wished he had owned something that nice when_ he _went to Wharton. Jeff grinned, but otherwise paid him no heed.

Once Alan's room was done, the little group left. Alan made sure that Fermat's handprint was filed in the door's lock, and for the first time since he had been sent to Wharton, Alan wanted his father's handprint logged. "I know I've usually given access to another friend," Alan began sheepishly. "But if there's one thing I've learned this summer, it's that family means more to me than I thought it did."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, son," Jeff said as he put his hand up to the plate. The scanner's light ran up and down his hand, and he entered a password, one he was unlikely to forget. Alan completed the process with his own password, and the small group found itself out in the hallway without much to say.

"How about dinner in town?" Jeff suggested. "One last good meal before we leave you to the rigors of cafeteria food."

"Sounds great to me," Gordon piped up. "Then we can take them to the store to stock up on snacks and drinks to tide them over... for about an hour or so."

Brains and Fermat both chuckled, and Alan playfully swatted his older brother. "Sounds good to me, too, if only to satisfy this bottomless pit here," he said.

"Bottomless pit? _Moi? _I'm crushed!" Gordon raised the back of his hand to his forehead in a dramatic motion.

Alan swatted him again, and Jeff smiled while shaking his head. "C'mon, boys. Let's eat before the day gets any later. We _do_ have a sizeable trip back home, you know."

"R-R-R... yes, we do," Brains agreed. "And I'm st-st-st... hungry."

With that, they headed back down to the limo and Jeff instructed the driver to take them to downtown New Ashford and a restaurant that Jeff knew from his many visits to Wharton.

xxxx

It was nearing curfew when the boys returned to campus. They stopped in front of Chetwood dorm, intending to let Alan off first. But before they left the limousine, Jeff handed each boy the latest in satellite cell phones. "Here are your phones," he said. "Call anytime, son, and I mean that. Email is okay, but... I like to hear your voice, too."

"I will, Dad. Promise."

"And, Fermat, d-d-don't lose it," Brains cautioned. "I expect to h-h-hear from you on a r-r-r... often."

"I'll t-take care of it, Dad."

"And here's another piece of equipment for you." Jeff gave them each a stylish watch. "Something else we're beta testing. It's a communicator, one that puts you in contact with John up in Thunderbird Five. But I warn you both; it's only to be used in extreme emergencies. The red button on the side will activate a signal that will both tell us that you're in trouble and a locator chip will tell us where you are, anywhere in the world." He wagged a finger at both boys. "Wear it at all times and remember: extreme emergencies only!"

"Right, Dad," Alan said, his blue eyes shining. Fermat nodded eagerly, happy to be given such a cool piece of tech.

"Now, let's get you inside, Alan."

Brains said his goodbyes to the youngest Tracy there in the limo, but Jeff and Gordon got out and walked Alan to his room, Gordon carrying one bag of goodies and Alan the other. They paused before the door to Alan's quarters, dropping the bags of groceries there. Father and son embraced, and Gordon gave his brother a friendly poke in the arm, then pulled him into a brief hug.

"I'll miss you guys," Alan said softly.

"Ditto, sprout," Gordon replied.

Alan didn't even protest the name this time. He walked his father and brother to the front door, waving at them as they got back into the limousine. Then he sighed, and trudged back to his room. It was still unoccupied, but he knew it wouldn't be that way for much longer. He looked around the room, then sighed again and opened the small refrigerator to put away his goodies.

At Maplewood, Jeff accompanied Brains and Fermat up to the third floor. Gordon had ruffled the boy's hair as he got out of the limo and said, "Take care, sport."

"I-I will, Gordon," Fermat promised.

Now it was time to say goodbye to Jeff and to his father. "You take good care of yourself, F-F-Fermat. And c-c-c... phone me whenever you want, o-okay?"

"I will, Dad." The two embraced, a long, tight hug that both were loath to break. But they did, and Jeff added a quick hug of his own and ruffled Fermat's hair as Gordon had.

"Take care of Alan for me, Fermat," Jeff told him with a smile, as they walked to the elevator.

Fermat smiled back. "I will, sir. I promise."

Brains waggled his fingers as the elevator doors closed. "Bye, son."

Fermat returned the gesture. "Bye, Dad."

Alone in the hall, he swallowed and sniffed, then turned back to his room. The bags of snacks lay beside the door, and he put up his palm up to the lock. The door swished open, and Fermat stepped inside, a bag in each hand. Bags that quickly dropped to the floor as he exclaimed, "Hey! Wh-What do you think you're doing!"

_

* * *

Who is he and what is he doing? Find out in my next chapter._

Now for my reviewers:

**ILoveSam:** Thanks for the good words. I hope you continue to like it as it develops.  
**Math Girl:** I hope I can make more of a differentiation between all of the movie characters versus the TV show characters and do justice to them both. Thanks for the compliments.  
**justdoyourthing:** I'm glad you like it.  
**Zoe:** Here's some more! Thanks for the kind words.  
**Iniysa: **I will continue. Thanks for your compliments.  
**darkhelmetj:** Well, it was rather a surprise to me, but when a plot bunny whaps you between the eyes, you rather sit up and take notice. As I've said, I hope I can bring out those little quirks that make the characters different. Thanks for the good words on my characterization of Alan and Fermat. Having a teenager at home (albeit a girl) helps!  
**clairie:** I read your review first thing in the morning and laughed and laughed! No, hun, it's not the Twilight Zone, but the TB zone. I can't promise any other fics, but this one had to come out.


	3. Unexpected Situations

_Author's note: _Ah, who is in Fermat's room? And who will Alan's new roomie be? Questions to be answered in this chapter! Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

The slight, dark-haired boy jumped up from Fermat's chair as if bitten, and the chair rolled backwards into the cleared floor of the dorm room. He swept Fermat up and down with his dark brown eyes, noticing the thick glasses, the tanned complexion and the angry look on Fermat's face. For his part, Fermat noticed the slim build and equally thin, pale face, now flushed with embarrassment and possibly anger. The two stood still for a moment as they sized each other up, then the Fermat spoke. 

"W-Well? You haven't answered my qu-qu-question."

The stranger moistened his lips with his tongue and glanced quickly around the room and came back to meet Fermat's glare. "I was just admiring your computer set up, that's all."

Fermat picked up his bags and took them with him to his desk. He snagged the chair from the middle of the floor with a foot and drew it back. He scowled to see the computer powered up and the asterisks that indicated a password typed into the sign on screen. "More that j-just admiring it, I see."

The stranger folded his arms. "Well, I wanted to see what it could do."

_Yeah, right._ "And you d-didn't realize it w-would be password p-p-protected?" Fermat retorted. He shut the computer down, and made a mental note to find a way to lock it up. Turning around, his eyes widened as he saw his blankets and sheets all piled in a heap on the top bunk. "Hey! Why'd you do that?" he asked angrily. "I had f-first dibs on the b-b-b... lower bunk! Just who the h-h-h... just who d-do you think you are?"

The dark haired boy pulled himself to his full, slight height, and said haughtily, "I am Andrew John Trumbull. Who are you?"

"My name is F-F-Fermat Hackenbacker."

"Hackenbacker? I've never heard of any Hackenbackers in the elite. And what kind of name is Fermat?"

"It's the name of a f-f-f... eminent French m-m-mathematician."

"Oh. Who wants to be named after some moldy old mathematician?" The smaller boy raised an eyebrow and declared with pride. "I'm a descendent of the famous John Trumbull."

Fermat glared at him through his glasses. Then he asked, a challenge in his voice, "The artist?"

Andrew John Trumbull huffed and said, trying to sneer, "No. The poet."

The bespectacled boy knew he had scored a hit. "Oh,_ him_. We spent a d-day or so st-st-studying him in American Literature last y-year. He was one of the C-C-Connecticut Wits."

"Last year? What kind of elementary school teaches American Literature?"

Fermat's eyes narrowed. He had endured a lot of teasing about his age (among other things) when he first came to Wharton, teasing that tapered off once the other boys knew that he was under the protection of the scrappy Alan Tracy. _Alan's not here, now. Not like he was last year. I guess now's the time for me to learn to fight my own battles._

He picked up his grocery bags and opened the small refrigerator, then stopped. Almost every shelf was already filled with cans of soda and packages of treats. Fermat began shoving them aside to make room for his own things. As he worked, he said, "To answer your question, I didn't st-st-st... learn about him in elementary school. American L-L-Literature is a required course for fr-freshmen here."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

Fermat looked up at Andrew John Trumbull and replied coolly, "It m-m-means that I'm a sophomore." He paused, then before the other boy could make the obvious comment, he added, "And I don't m-m-mean a 'wise f-f-fool', either." He finished shoving his food into the refrigerator. "Now, about the sl-sl-sleeping arrangements..." He turned to find Andrew James Trumbull sitting on the lower bunk, buttoning up his pajama top.

The other boy looked up at him with a smug smile. "I'm sorry, but I don't 'do' bunk beds. I'm afraid you'll have to sl-sl-sleep up there," he remarked, indicating the upper berth with a jerk of his head and mimicking Fermat's stutter.

"You'll r-r-regret it." Fermat pointed to his glasses. "I don't w-wear my glasses to b-b-bed. So, if I wake up, m-my depth perception is b-b-b... not good, and I tend to fall out of upper b-b-b... levels."

"Just don't wake me up when you do." The other boy lay down and curled up, pulling his covers over his head.

_Not wake you up? Yeah, right. If I fall out of bed, you're going to **know** about it, buster!_ Fermat promised himself. He huffed out a breath, then brought over the extra desk chair so he could reach his mattress. He made the bed clumsily, not caring about being quiet or considerate, realizing that lights out was soon approaching. At last the bed was put together, though not to the military preciseness that Jeff had originally achieved, and the young man got down quickly, moving to his wardrobe to get some clothes to sleep in.

"Lights out in five minutes," a masculine voice proclaimed over the dormitory public address system. Fermat grabbed a pair of sweatpants and headed into the _en suite _bathroom. There was no way he was going to dress or undress in front of this stranger. He quickly changed clothes and put his dirty things into one of the mesh laundry bags that hung from the hook on the back of the door. Then he brushed his teeth and hair, used the toilet, and hurried out into the bedroom. Slipping off his glasses, he laid them gently on the desk. The clarity of his world turned into the familiar, disturbing fuzziness that was his unaugmented vision and he tread carefully across the floor to the foot of the bunk bed, where the ladder was. Alan had perfected a running jump that could get him to the top bunk, one that enabled him to slip between bed and ceiling without banging his head or body on either. Fermat desperately wished he could do the same, but between his bad vision and his shorter legs, he knew it was a lost cause. Besides, he hadn't needed such a cool technique until now.

He carefully scaled the ladder, ducking down to keep from banging his head on the ceiling. He had just crawled up onto the mattress when the room suddenly went dark. The loss of light startled him, and he straightened in surprise. "Ow!" he hissed, as his head came in firm contact with the ceiling. Below him, he could hear a snicker. Muttering a cuss word under his breath, he rubbed his head and got about the business of climbing between the sheets. As he closed his eyes, he thought, _Just wait until the morning, Andrew John Trumbull. You'll see that Fermat Hackenbacker is not a man to be trifled with._

xxxx

The tall Oriental teen stopped dead still in the doorway as it slid open. One of his friends peered over his shoulder, then groaned.

"You are so screwed, Sugi. You've got Tracy for a roomie!"

Alan looked up from his computer game and blinked in surprise. He slowly removed his earphones and asked, "You're my roommate?"

The tall boy pulled back to look at the room number, then shook his head. "How'd I end up with you, Tracy? Why aren't you rooming with your little friend, Hackenbacker?"

"Ms. Belvedere split us up," Alan offered in response. He was still surprised. Lee Sugimoto was one of the school's top athletes. He was a senior, and was on the basketball, track, and golf teams and was captain of this year's soccer lineup. On top of that he was a good student, one who put as much effort into his studies as he did his athletics. Plus, he was popular. Very popular.

"Maybe she wants you to reform him," Lee's friend said with a mocking grin and a playful elbow.

"Shut it, Mackenzie," Lee growled. He stepped into the room and looked around, then studied Alan for a moment. "Glad to see you took the upper bunk."

Alan shrugged. "You were here first. And I'm used to it."

"C'mon, Lee. We've got a few more minutes before lights out. Let's play some poker," Mackenzie suggested.

Lee turned to Mackenzie. "Not tonight. I'm tired and I've got to report to the coach at six. I'll see you later, okay?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Besides, I need to lay down a few ground rules to my new roomie here."

"Okay, man. Talk to you in the a.m." The two older teens touched closed fists and Mackenzie left.

Lee stood there for a moment, looking Alan up and down. Alan sat still, returning the gaze, then put his earphones back in and prepared to go back to his game. That's when Lee spoke. "Hey, Tracy!"

Alan pulled the earphones off again. "Yeah?"

"Rule number one. Don't hog the bathroom or the fridge."

Alan shrugged non-committally. "Okay."

"Rule number two. Stay out of my stuff. Or if you need something, ask first. And keep your friends out of my stuff, too."

"That's cool."

Lee frowned. From the reputation that Alan had the year before, he figured that the boy would put up a stink. "Rule number three. Knock before you come in."

"I'll do that for you if you'll do the same for me," Alan responded. He was getting the idea that Lee was expecting some reaction from him, and he was determined to show this big man on campus that he was cool.

Lee frowned again. "I suppose that's fair enough. Who do you have programmed in?"

"Fermat and my dad. Not that I'll be seeing much of my dad, but Fermat's okay. He won't touch your stuff. You?"

"Mackenzie and Lewis."

"Just do me a favor? Keep them out of my computer, will you?" Alan asked simply.

"Okay. I can do that. Rule number four. Anything you see going on in here is private. You don't tell a soul."

Now Alan sat back and folded his arms. "Why? Do you do illegal stuff?"

"No," Lee shot back. "But sometimes... let's just say that sometimes there are things going on that the administration would frown on. From what I've heard, you understand all about that." He finally stepped over to his wardrobe, and began pulling out what he planned on wearing to bed. As he did, he asked, "Why did they split you and Hackenbacker up, anyway?"

"Not that it's any of your business or anything, but Belvedere told my dad that she thinks I'm a 'dubious influence' on him. And that I lean on him academically," Alan answered, putting his earphones back in. He shot a glance at the taller boy, realizing as he did how much his new roommate sounded like Scott.

"Hey, I was just curious." Lee took his clothes to the bathroom, but he stopped before entering. "You _can_ keep quiet, can't you, Tracy?"

"As long as it's not illegal, I can keep my mouth shut," Alan told him. _I know what keeping secrets is all about._

"Good. This might not be so bad after all," the older boy remarked as he entered the bathroom and shut the door.

Alan took the time to change into sweatpants and t-shirt, slinging his sneakers into the floor of his wardrobe. He wadded his dirty clothes up and put the tight pile on his desk until Lee came out.

"It's all yours," Lee said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "We can talk tomorrow about who cleans what and when."

"Sure," Alan said as he got up and passed Lee on the way into the bathroom. He dropped his dirty things into the empty bag on the back of the door, and performed his usual bedtime routine. The five minute warning sounded just he left the lavatory. Lee was already in bed, thumbing through a sports magazine.

_Time to dazzle him, _Alan thought. He moved over to the far corner of the room, near the door, got a running start, then leaped into the air. Startled, Lee poked his head out as Alan's body left the ground and landed with a thump in the bed above him. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, trying to figure out exactly how the younger boy had made that leap. Then, as the lights went out, he called up to his new roommate. "Hey, Tracy!"

"Yeah?"

"You ever think of trying out for track and field?"

xxxx

"Damn!"

"Wha?" came the sleepy voice from the bottom bunk.

Fermat cradled his left arm in his right, biting his lower lip and fighting back the tears of pain that threatened to fall. It was as he'd feared. He'd fallen from the top bunk, half asleep. He probably would have landed on his head or his back except somehow, somewhere, the rudiments of the martial arts training he had been given by Scott Tracy came to the fore and he twisted, slamming his arms down to take the brunt of the fall. The jarring shock burned up and down his arms like electricity, leaving the nerves buzzing as they coped with the sudden, violent jolt. He had rolled over and sat up, closing his eyes against the disorientation, then had loudly uttered the swear word as it became evident, very evident, that something was wrong with his left arm.

"G-G-Get up!" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Why?" came a whine from the bed beside him. Fermat could tell that his new roommate had turned over and away from him.

"Because, d-d-dumbass, I think I've b-b-b... fractured my arm! You're going to g-g-g... fetch the hall monitor."

He could hear the rustling of covers and then a foot stuck out and nearly hit him in the face. "Oh, all right. Where's this stupid hall monitor anyway?"

Fermat tried to remember where the hall monitor's single room was located on that floor. "Turn right when you go out our d-d-door and four doors down. There'll be a s-s-sign..."

He didn't say anymore because Andrew John Trumbull was out of bed and already gone. Fermat shifted so that the lower bunk was at his back and supporting him, hissing with pain at every move. It seemed an eternity before the door slid open again, and a tall youth of obvious Indian extraction walked in. He put a key into a slot under the light switch and turned on the overhead lights. Fermat squinted up at him.

"Hello there, Mr. Hackenbacker," the young man said cheerfully. "I see we have a problem here."

"Yeah, D-D-Dev. I seem to have fr-fr-fr-fr... injured my arm." Fermat recognized the older boy as Devdan Israni, a fellow classmate from his advanced computer class of last year. Dev knelt down beside him, a medikit over one shoulder.

"And how did this injury happen?" Dev took a look at Fermat's arm, which was swelling alarmingly. He took out a cold pack, snapped it taut with both hands to start the chemical reaction within and applied it gently to the swollen spot.

Fermat shot a poisonous look at his new roommate, who was sitting at his own desk, trying to stay out of the way. "I f-f-fell out of the t-t-t... bed," he explained, pointing upward with his right hand.

Dev raised an eyebrow. "You must be careful in such beds, my friend. They say that the first step is a doozy..."

The younger boy snorted a laugh, and Dev smiled. "Where are your glasses?" he asked.

"On my d-d-d... over there," Fermat indicated which desk was his.

"Ah." Dev got up and fetched the specs and handed them over. The younger boy slipped them on awkwardly.

"I fear we shall have to call in some more experienced personnel, my friend," Dev said regretfully. "This may mean a trip to the emergency room."

Fermat groaned. "My dad is g-g-g... will be so... so..."

"Angry?" Dev suggested.

The younger boy shook his head. "Concerned. He r-r-rarely gets angry at me." He let his head droop. "But he's so f-far away."

Dev looked around with a puzzled expression, and spied the slim boy on sitting at the desk. "But where is Alan? Why are you not rooming with him?"

"It's a long s-story."

Dev nodded, then pulled out a satellite phone. "I will call for whoever is on duty at the infirmary first. Then they can decide if you go to the hospital or not." He pressed a couple of buttons to speed-dial a number, then as he waited for someone to pick up, he asked, "Shall I get Alan?"

Fermat shook his head. "N-N-No. I'll be o-o-okay." _Alan's probably as tired as I am. Better let him sleep._

The hall monitor started to say something, but whoever he had called had finally picked up the phone. As Dev talked to the nurse on duty, Fermat put his head back and closed his eyes. The pain had subsided to a dull throb, and stayed that way as long as he didn't move his arm. _I hope this will convince Mr. Andrew John Trumbull that I need to have the bottom bunk. And just wait until Scott hears about this. He'll be on my case about not falling properly._

A voice came from behind Dev. "Can I go back to bed now?"

The older boy put up a forefinger to indicate that the speaker should wait. He finished his call, then said, "I do not think you will be sleeping anytime soon, young Mr. Trumbull. I should make myself comfortable were I you." He turned to glance back at Fermat. "You shall have to tell me, Fermat, how it came to be that you are sleeping on the top bunk."

Fermat smiled. It was good to have friends.

xxxx

"C'mon, Fermat, c'mon!" Alan muttered as he waited outside the dining hall. He shivered a little. The September morning air was cool and a touch breezy; living on a tropical island did tend to thin the blood. He made sure his gray and black uniform jacket was zipped up and rubbed his hands together. Standing on his toes a bit, he looked over the heads of the stream of young men passing by him to see if he could find his friend.

"Hey, Pinky!" A dark-skinned boy with his black hair in dreadlocks approached. The boy's name was Qaeshon Lewis and he was in the same grade as Alan and Fermat.

Alan grinned to see him. "Hey, Kay!" He held out his hand and the two shook, then let their hands slide apart slowly, pressing their middle fingers together so that when their hands finally parted, the result was a crisp snapping sound, just as if they had snapped their fingers individually. It was an African greeting, or so his friend told him.

"Where's the Brain?" Qaeshon asked. It was a running joke between the three that if Fermat was the brains of the operation, then Alan must be Pinky. Qaeshon had tried to explain to the boys about this old cartoon that his father still chortled about, but Alan still didn't get it. And God help anyone else who tried to call him Pinky...

"I don't know," Alan said. "I've been looking for him..." He got up on his toes to look again.

"Why? Didn't you come over here together?"

Alan shook his head. "No, we're not rooming together right now. Belvedere split us up."

"No Pinky and the Brain?" Qaeshon asked, surprised.

"Nah." Alan turned to his friend, his eyes shining. "But do you know who my new roommate is? Lee Sugimoto!"

"No way!"

"Yeah way! And he thinks I should try out for track."

"Cool! And hey, there's the Brain."

"Fermat? Hey, man! What happened to you?"

Alan and Qaeshon hustled down the stairs to meet a tired and pale-looking Fermat, his left arm in a bright blue cast and a sling. He smiled up at his friends as they gathered around him, pulling off his book bag and his laptop and carrying them for him. "I f-f-fell out of b-b-bed," he said simply. "And f-f-f... broke my arm."

"How do you break your arm falling out of the bottom bunk?" Alan wanted to know.

"I w-w-wasn't in the b-b-b... lower bunk." Fermat's eyes narrowed behind his glasses as they lighted on the back of the slight, dark-haired boy who climbed the stairs in front of them. Alan's gaze followed that of his friend, and he frowned.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"My r-r-roommate," Fermat replied. "He, uh, ap-ap-ap... took over the bottom bunk while I was out."

Alan's face flushed with anger and he started to go after the boy who had caused so much trouble, but Qaeshon held him back. "No, man. Not now."

"Don't w-w-w-worry about him," Fermat said, smiling.

"Why not?" Alan asked.

"You remember D-D-Dev? From m-my computer class l-l-last year?"

"Yeah, I do."

"He's my hall m-m-monitor. He made it very cl-cl-clear to Andrew J-J-J.. to Andrew Trumbull that I'm t-to have the b-b-bottom bunk... because I c-c-can't climb a ladder with a br-br-br... cast."

"All right!" Alan put up his hand and both Fermat and Qaeshon slapped it. He headed up the stairs, turning back to his friends. "Hey, guys, c'mon. Let's get breakfast. I've got some interesting news about _my_ new roommate."

* * *

The new roomies are introduced, but what are they_ really_ like? And how will the folks back home react to Fermat's little accident? Find out next chapter 

Now for my reviewers:

**Claudette:** Sorry this was such a shock! And yes, the characters are the movie ones, as in Bill Paxton as Jeff, etc. Hopefully I can get in some descriptive stuff on the characters as well. As for the door locks, they are in case of an "I left my book in my room and can you go get it?" type emergency. Two people per room, and two extras programmed in. I know it could be misused, and perhaps it will be. We'll see. And now you know who was in Fermat's room. No kidnapping in this fic. Promise.  
**darkhelmetj:** Ah, you'd think that Andrew John Trumbull would need a kicking, wouldn't you. Alan thinks so, too. Thanks for the good words on Gordon and how I've captured Fermat. I'm looking forward to that TV verse story from you...  
**Fried Eeyore: **Is this soon enough?  
**Tanwen Micara:** Thanks for your nice compliments.  
**Zoe:** Hope this keeps you dancing!  
**fellowriverrat: **Yes, Jeff has been momentarily stymied by Ms. Belvedere. As for Gordon, I could just see the movie character doing that. I'll try to give him back his sense of humor; the movie didn't give him much scope for it. As for the red hair, sorry, hun. Gotta go with Ben T's short brown cut. Don't expect to make a movie fan out of you; but hope you enjoy the story anyway.  
**Shirley Ann Burton: **Yes, there were some _serious_ flaws in that script. Time to take advantage of them.  
**Math Girl:** Re: Fermat and Tin-Tin. Well, yeah, he likes her in a friendly, sort of "one of the gang" kind of way. I'm placing our young Mr. Hackenbacker at a ripe 13, two years ahead of his peers due to his ability.  
**Ellie ET:** Girl, you know how to make me laugh! Thanks for the good words on the stutter; it certainly is different from Brains's TV verse stutter. And I'd figure that Fermat would be the brunt of a lot of teasing and bullying... until Alan stepped in.


	4. Unselfishness

_Author's note: _Tryouts and sign ups to come. You know, I really, really hate writing this stutter. I'd drop it if I could. But... sigh... it's part of the characters. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

The first day of school was, as always, a day of introductions and giving out of syllabi, along with hearing expectations from the teachers. For math, Alan and Fermat were again in the same class. Alan had passed his course with Miss Gerrick by the skin of his teeth, mostly by completing the 10,000 word essay she had assigned over the spring break and by buckling down during the last quarter to bring up his grades. The boys could choose a literature elective at this point in their studies, so Fermat choose Shakespeare for the first semester, and Alan decided to take Adolescent Literature. "I'm an adolescent," he quipped. "This should be a piece of cake!" 

Science was also different for both boys as Fermat was already a year ahead of Alan and was into Chemistry, while Alan was taking Biology. The younger boy was also ahead of his older friend in Computer Science, and was taking a separate Pre-Engineering course as an elective. Alan had opted for Strength Training as his first elective, but the friends shared their history course and were both continuing their studies in Spanish.

Throughout the day, Alan helped Fermat when he could, handing him off to other friends in the classes where they were separated. Qaeshon took over in Shakespeare and Chemistry, and Dev helped out in the computer science class. It looked like Fermat would be on his own in Pre-Engineering, but another friend of the boys, Jason Cunningham, stayed behind a few moments after his own class to get Fermat settled. The teacher, Mr. Feng, approved of the way Jason helped and gave him a pass to get him into his next class.

"M-Man, am I t-t-tired," Fermat declared as he met up with Alan after their last period classes. The older boy automatically took the heavy book bag from his friend, carrying it in his hand while keeping his own backpack slung over his shoulder. Fermat kept hold of the laptop computer that he had used throughout the day, typing one handed almost as accurately as he typed with two.

"Well, it's only the first day," Alan said in commiseration. "You'll get used to it by the end of the week. So, what are you going to do for extracurricular stuff? You think your dad will let you go for the academic quiz team this year?"

"I d-dunno, Alan," his friend replied. "He might n-not. N-Not after this." He held up the cast-covered arm, wincing slightly. "Oww," he groaned. "I n-need some p-p-p... medicine." The two walked in silence for a moment, then Fermat continued, "I t-t-t... spoke with him last night from the h-h-h... emergency room. He w-wanted to come g-get me."

"Really?" Alan asked, a puzzled frown on his face. "Why?"

Fermat sighed. "He's a-a-a... concerned I won't get along with my new r-roommate. I think h-he feels I c-c-c... won't st-stand up for myself."

Alan gave a disgusted snort. "Fat lot he knows."

"Well, he h-has a p-point, Alan," Fermat remarked. "I r-relied on you a wh-whole lot last year."

"But you've learned a lot this summer, too," Alan countered. "And this year is different. Different classes, different classmates. You're a year older and a year farther along in school. You're established, man. You shouldn't have half the trouble you had last year."

"I hope you're r-right, Alan. The year hasn't s-s-s... begun very w-well."

They climbed up the stairs to Maplewood dorm, and took the elevator up to the third floor. Alan pressed his hand up against the lock's scanner and the door opened obediently for him. He took a look around as he entered and said with satisfaction, "He's not here."

"G-Good," Fermat said, moving to his desk and lifting his laptop's case up to desk level, opening it one-handed, then laying it on its side so he could slide the computer out.

"Where's your painkiller?" Alan asked, putting Fermat's bookbag down beside the desk and slinging his own on the lower bunk.

"The n-nurse has it."

Alan frowned. "How come? What if you need it in the middle of the night?"

"I dunno. Do w-without, I guess," Fermat shrugged. "I need to take it with f-food or milk. We'd better stop by the i-infirmary on the way to d-dinner."

"You'll need to talk to your dad before then," Alan reminded him. "Sign up for extra curricular stuff is after dinner."

"I kn-kn... I will," Fermat replied. He pulled out his satellite phone and speed dialed a number. The connection took a bit of time to make, considering that it was halfway around the world, but within a few moments, the sleepy face of Hiram Hackenbacker appeared in the phone's screen.

"H-Hello, son," he said, stifling a yawn. "H-How's the a-arm?"

"It's o-okay, Dad," Fermat said, smiling at his father's face. "I'm h-h-h... going to d-dinner soon. Alan's here."

"H-Hello, Alan. H-How did your f-f-f... day go?"

"Hey, Brains," Alan said, as he looked over Fermat's shoulder. "It was okay. We figured out a way to get Fermat here from class to class even with his busted arm."

"G-Good. I'll t-tell your f-f-f... dad. Later." Brains had put on his glasses by now and pushed his thin, brown hair out of his eyes. "So, son. Why are you c-calling n-now?"

Alan pulled back out of range, and Fermat took a deep breath. "Well, D-D-D... Father, the sign up for e-e-e... clubs and stuff is after d-dinner. I was hoping you'd a-a-a... let me go out for the academic qu-quiz t-t-t... squad."

Brains looked at the eager, anxious face of his son. "I-I don't know, F-F-F... son. I'm c-c-c... uneasy about s-security. And about you g-going to other schools, or staying out l-late. Your st-st-st... classes come first. You're so much y-younger than the o-o-o... than the rest."

"I know, D-Dad, but I can handle it," Fermat replied with confidence in his voice. "I learned a lot this s-s-s... vacation. Like how to m-make the best use of my time. And you know th-there are always g-g-g... teachers along on the t-trips. I c-can do it. I know I can." He leaned in close to the camera and gave his father what Alan had termed, "the puppy dog look". "Please?"

Brains sighed. "O-Okay. But just the one a-a-a... club. I'll email the p-permissions in the m-morning. Later." He yawned loudly. "Wh-What is Alan planning on d-doing?"

Alan returned to the phone. "I'm going to try out for track and field. My new roommate suggested it."

"I h-hope you m-make the team," Brains said, stifling another yawn. "D-Do you w-want me to t-t-t... mention it to your f-f-f... dad?"

"No, thanks. That's okay. I'll talk to him later. After I've talked to the coach and all," Alan assured him. "He can mention it to John for me."

"Yes, J-John will be particularly interested," Brains remarked. He yawned again. "I n-need to go b-back to bed, son. L-Let me know th-the schedule of m-m-m... events, F-Fermat. I'll see if I c-c-can attend one or t-two."

"R-Really?" Fermat's excitement was palpable.

"R-Really," Brains said with a sleepy smile. "Now get to d-d-d... supper."

"O-Okay, Dad! Goodnight."

"G-Goodnight, son. Love y-you."

"L-Love you, too, Dad." The connection was broken, and Fermat turned to Alan, eyes shining behind his glasses. "D-Did you hear that? D-Dad may come to a meet!"

"Well, he won't have a meet to come to unless we get a move on," Alan said with a grin. "C'mon! I'm hungry!"

The door swished open for them to leave, and Andrew John Trumbull stood there, about to step in. "Who's this?" he asked, looking Alan up and down with a look of distaste. "Don't tell me _he_ has access to our room?"

"This is my f-friend, Alan Tracy. And y-yeah, he has access to our r-r-r... quarters. So get used to it," Fermat replied, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He pushed past Trumbull and headed for the elevator. "C'mon, Alan. I d-don't want to miss dinner."

Alan caught up to him at the elevator door. "Hey, Fermat? What burr has he got up his butt?"

"I d-dunno. I think he thinks his n-name makes him something sp-sp-sp... unique," Fermat said, looking back at his room as the doors swished open.

"Well, a lot of people think the same thing about me," Alan said, bemused.

"Yeah, but_ you _don't think it a-about yourself," Fermat rejoined, giving his friend a poke in the ribs.

_But I do, _Alan thought ruefully. _And sometimes, I wish I didn't._

xxxx

They stopped by the infirmary, and Fermat got his dose of painkiller. He had to take it right there in front of the nurse, who gave him a cup of milk to wash it down with. Alan asked what Fermat should do if he needed the medicine during the night.

"He won't. This medication will last twelve hours," she replied. She turned her attention to Fermat. "You see whoever's on duty in the morning before breakfast for your next dose, okay?"

"I-I will," Fermat promised.

Dinner at Wharton was a noisy, sometimes chaotic affair. The food was good; for the money that each student brought to the school, it had to be. In bygone days, the students had been assigned to tables and the food and drink were passed around family style. One "host" was responsible for each table, starting the food around and asking for seconds, while waiters, hired from local talent, brought the dishes to the hosts. The goal at that point was to teach manners to what was often seen as an unruly group of privileged ruffians.

No such decorum prevailed these days, however. The meals were now served cafeteria style, with the boys moving through the lines with trays and having the freedom to sit with their friends. An occasional food fight erupted, friendly or unfriendly, but those who partook of them were given the job of cleaning up afterwards, and not only cleaning up the mess they had made, but the entire dining room as well. Alan and Fermat had learned that early the previous year when a friendly game of "hot potato" (played with a real baked potato) got out of hand and degenerated into a jello-slinging fest. They returned to their dorm room late that night with hands that smelled strongly of cherry, and when they returned home for Christmas, they brought with them an unexpected aversion to red jello that puzzled Onaha.

This evening, Alan and Jason helped Fermat with his tray, while Qaeshon held down a group of five seats. Five because Jason's roommate, a junior named Ralph Santiago, was joining them for the meal.

"Go sit down, Fermat," Jason said, gesturing toward the table with his head. "We've got the food."

Fermat went to join Qaeshon, and watched with bated breath as Alan balanced a tray on each forearm while Jason ran interference. Finally they got close to the table, and Jason, who had put his own tray down moments before, took Fermat's tray from Alan and set it before the injured boy.

"Thanks, g-guys!" he said with a happy grin.

The couriers grinned back and Jason said, "Kay, it's your turn tomorrow morning!"

"Not a problem," Qaeshon replied. He turned to Fermat. "I hope you like Froot Loops and skim milk, 'cause that's all I'm carrying!"

The group laughed, and Alan ruffled his friend's dark hair.

"So, Ralph, what's shakin' with you?" Alan asked. "I hear you made first string soccer."

"Yeah, I did," Ralph said, rolling his eyes. "My dad made a big fuss about it, too. Thinks I'm professional material. Had to come a week early for practice." He took a bite of his roast beef. "Sugi's been busting our cases ever since we got here, though. Wants us up and out by six to run and drill."

"Explains why he was already settled into the room when I got here," Alan said, taking a big gulp of water.

"Sugi's your roomie?" Jason asked, incredulous. "No way!"

"Yes way! Boy, was he surprised to find me sitting there!" Alan replied, eyes shining. "I dazzled him with the old Alan Tracy vertical lift maneuver, and he said I should go out for track!"

"Cool!" Ralph said with a grin. "What do you think you'd go for in track? Field events or running?"

"I think I'd like to see what I can do with the high jump and maybe the pole vault. Oh, and cross country. I spent a lot of time with my brother running the beaches over the summer."

Qaeshon groaned. "Which brother this time?"

Alan grinned. "John. He was home almost all summer long. He used to run track for Harvard."

"How many brothers do you have, anyway?" Ralph asked.

Alan rolled his eyes. "Four, all older."

"And where does the Brain over here fit into all of this?"

"M-My dad is Mr. T-Tracy's top aeronautic engineer," Fermat replied. "W-We live with the Tracys so they can w-work together on projects without having to t-travel long distances."

"Oh."

Alan could see that Ralph was having trouble processing this bit of information. "Hey, man, it's cool. We live so far out in the middle of nowhere that going anywhere is a pain in the ass. Fermat's and his dad have their own house at our family compound, and my dad's got his top designer on hand to discuss new ideas." He shrugged. "It works for us."

Ralph gave Alan an I-don't-quite-believe-you look. "Sounds like you live out in the middle of the ocean somewhere," he remarked.

Alan and Fermat exchanged glances, then said in unison, "We do."

The conversation was interrupted by Lee Sugimoto and his friend, Xavion Lewis, Qaeshon's older brother. He stopped at their table tapped Alan on the shoulder. "You coming to sign up for track?"

"Yep," Alan replied eagerly. "I'll be there."

"Come as soon as you're done. I put a good word in for you with the coach."

"You'd better be there, too, Kay," Xavion said, giving his brother's head a playful push. "We need you."

Qaeshon batted his brother away, irritably. "I'd rather be in orchestra. And on the yearbook staff."

"Those are a waste of your talents, little bro," Xavion retorted. He looked up at Lee, who was ready to go, then jabbed a finger at the younger boy. "Be there, or else."

The older boys moved away, and Qaeshon glanced at his friends, all of whom had questioning looks on their faces. "He's big on threats, but lousy on follow through. I'll do what I want. No way am I living in his shadow."

"Too bad, Kay," Alan said, "It'd be great to have a friend on the track team."

"That's assuming you make the cut, Pinky," Qaeshon shot back. Then he relaxed. "And I hope you do."

"Thanks!" Alan grinned, then finished his last bite of dinner roll.

"So, Brain, whatcha going out for?" Jason asked. "Or does your dad think you're still too young?"

"I'm g-going out for academic qu-quiz team!" Fermat exclaimed happily. "D-Dad gave his permission!"

"Hey, that's great!" Ralph remarked, wiping his mouth. "I hear Israni's the captain this year."

"Is he?" Alan asked, giving Fermat a wide-eyed excited look. "Then you'll be in, pal. No sweat!"

"Yeah, I hear that's the only thing he's doing outside of hall monitor. He's taking a heavy course load. Some AP stuff, too, to give him a boost in college," Ralph continued.

"He can handle it," Qaeshon said confidently. "He's only the smartest guy in school." He glanced around at the empty trays. "You guys finished? I am."

He was met by nods and words of agreement, and the five boys rose from their seats. Fermat and Jason piled the dishes from the younger boy's tray onto Jason's and the older boy took both off to the tray return area. He jogged back and caught up with his friends as they were halfway out the dining hall doors.

As they left, Fermat noticed his roommate sitting alone at a table, looking very small and very uncomfortable. Their eyes met for a split second, and Fermat turned away quickly, returning to the conversations that were going on around him.

xxxx

"So, Tracy. You want to join the track team, huh?" Coach Evans said as Lee Sugimoto guided Alan to the track coach. He was standing by a table covered with electronic datapads and styluses and on which perched a sign that said, "Athletics".

"Hey, Coach," Alan said with a nervous smile. He extended his hand. "Yeah, I want to try out for track."

Coach looked at him keenly as he shook Alan's hand. "I remember you from last year. You weren't too shabby in my classes, but I hear your academic studies didn't go as well."

Alan fidgeted a little, still smiling nervously. "Yeah, that's true... but I buckled down and brought my grades up last quarter." He rubbed his hands together. "I'm gonna work hard in school this year, too. No shortcuts."

"Hmm. But will you work hard in track?" the coach asked, eyeing Alan's constantly moving body. "Sugi says you've got a jump that, with work, could be an asset to the team. Anything else you can do?"

"I ran a lot of cross-country with my brother this summer. Got up to 5 or 6K."

The grizzled man nodded and consulted his datapad. "We might be able to use you... if you're any good. You taking phys. ed. this semester?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Strength Training with Mr. Beccara."

"Good." He looked Alan in the eye. "First try outs are tomorrow at three-thirty... sharp. Dress out and come to the field. We'll see how you do." This time, the coach extended his hand. "See you tomorrow, Tracy."

"Right. Three-thirty, sharp." Alan's smile widened as he shook the coach's hand. He turned to go, then turned around, walking backwards as he pointed at the coach and Lee and called, "I'll be there!"

In another part of the auditorium, Fermat was painstakingly signing his name to a datapad signup list. Dev Israni came up behind him and nearly made him jump as he said, "So, you are going to try out for the academic quiz team?"

"Y-Yeah, Dev," Fermat replied, turning around. "My D-Dad has given me p-p-p..." He paused and took a deep breath. "He says it's okay."

"Good! I foresee no problem with your inclusion. Do you, Mr. Feng?"

Fermat wasn't surprised that his Pre-Engineering teacher was the team's advisor and coach. "No, I don't see any problems here either, Dev." The tall and skinny Asian held out his hand. "Welcome to the team."

The boy took the man's hand and shook it. "Th-Thanks, Mr. Feng. I'm r-really e-e-e... h-h-h..." Another deep breath, then, "I'm really g-glad to be part of this."

"We'll have to see what we can do about that stutter," Mr. Feng said, amusement in his voice. "You'll have to try out, of course. But I think that will be a mere formality in your case, Mr. Hackenbacker." He raised his eyes to Dev. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Devdan. Someone's at the chess team table."

Devdan nodded, and Mr. Feng walked away. "Now we will have a truly powerful team, made up of the best minds this school has to offer," he said, rubbing his long brown hands together and grinning, his teeth white against his brown skin. He leaned in to speak quietly with Fermat. "Has young Mr. Trumbull given you any more trouble?"

"Other than b-being a snob, n-no," Fermat replied.

"Good. Perhaps you should know, my friend, that Mr. Trumbull is as young as you were last year, and that Wharton is merely the latest in a line of boarding schools that he has attended." He put an arm around Fermat's shoulders. "Perhaps you should... cut him some slack, also."

Fermat sighed, and gazed up at Dev with a long-suffering expression. "I'll t-try, Dev. Promise."

"I require no promises. But I am glad you will try," Dev replied, removing his arm. He pointed to a spot several tables down. "Look, there. He has interests in music."

Indeed, Andrew John Trumbull stood before the music director, who oversaw both the orchestra and the chorale. He was putting his name down on an electronic sign up pad just like the one Fermat had just used.

"Interesting. I hope that if he has an i-instrument, he uses one of the pr-practice rooms, and not our r-r-r... quarters," Fermat said wryly.

"He shall be reminded of that social nicety should he try to disrupt the harmony of our hall," Dev assured him. "Now, you look like you are sleepy. Perhaps you should return to the dormitory and go to bed."

"It's the p-p-p... medicine," Fermat admitted. "It makes me drowsy. Plus I was up so late last night..."

"Then go, and sleep well."

"I w-will."

Fermat walked out of the auditorium, yawning widely. His arm didn't hurt, but he could feel the beginnings of a chafed spot on his neck where the strap of his sling rubbed against it. He grabbed the loose side of his light jacket and drew it close over the immobilized arm; the night was breezy and cool and he felt slightly chilled. He looked up at one of the clear places where the leafy oaks did not obscure the night sky and said a quiet, "Hello, J-John. How's life a-among the stars?"

He walked slowly along the paved path, so often smoothed and patched where the unruly roots of the oaks had broken through the concrete slabs. The breeze blew through his hair, mussing it, and the leaves of the oaks, so soon to turn a bright yellow then fall off, rustled above him. He smiled, feeling peaceful for the first time all that very busy day.

He had just passed the Oakwood dorm, which was perpendicular to his own Maplewood, when he heard some loud laughter, and a familiar voice call out, "Let go of me, you bastard!" There was the sound of cloth tearing, and an unfamiliar, older voice called mockingly, "Whoops! Didn't mean to do that!" Then the jeering laughter again, from more than one person.

Fermat stood stock still, frozen to the spot by indecision. _What do I do? What **can** I do?_

* * *

What's going on and who is involved? What will Fermat do? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB station! (couldn't resist!) 

Now for my reviewers:

**Ellie ET: **Thanks for not killing off AJT on me there. You'll find out a little more about him in this chapter. Maybe it will change your mind a teeny-tiny bit.  
**darkhelmetj: **Yep, you were right. Snotty-nosed brat indeed. The Tracys do look on Fermat as a little brother, but without the snarky attitude (Virgil didn't ask HIM if he had any homework to do!). More about AJT in this chapter and a little more about Sugi and his friends, too.  
**FrankieC: **I'm so glad you're still reading this and enjoying it even!  
**clairie: **True, he's not endeared himself to anyone. But not a British accent, more like a New England twang (think the Kennedys).  
**IloveSam: **Lots of questions to be answered, and they will be. Just stay tuned!  
**Zoe: **Thanks for the nice words. I do see them in my head and hear them when I write, which is good! And I won't give up on them either. Promise.  
**Math Girl: **Yes, Fermat's had an ouchie already. Trumbull does seem difficult to get along with, but Sugi has unplumbed depths that we have yet to see.  
**moonlightbear: **You're right, c'est la vie!  
**Mad-Friend: **I have a feeling that in the Jeff vs. Ms. Belvedere face-off, it was a case of being a gentleman and perhaps partially agreeing with her a little. Plus, the deal was done and his only "legal" recourse is at the meeting in October. The tertiary drive (tertiary meaning "third") is an invention of my own. It's supposed to be a hidden drive, one that someone trying to break into the computer wouldn't think to look for. They might look for a hidden secondary hard drive, but not a third one. And it was time those telecomms showed up. I couldn't think of anything better for direct contact with the island and IR. So far it looks like Alan has the better deal, but we'll see.  
**Rachie Tracy: **Thanks for your compliments on the realism. That's what I strive for.  
**Cenna: **Thanks! Glad you like it.


	5. Undaunted

_Author's note: _Now, let's find out who's in trouble and what Fermat is going to do about it. And, find out how tryouts go for Pinky... er... Alan. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

_

* * *

What do I do? I'm just one kid with a busted arm! Do I go running off for help? Or do I go running in **to** help? _Fermat's thoughts flitted through his head like lightning. He knew that the odds sounded like they were against him. His feet did a little noiseless tattoo on the concrete as he turned in a circle, looking for someone, anyone around. _I could run to Maplewood, or back to Oakwood, but by the time I found help--and made them understand me past my stutter... I need Alan! _

Suddenly the new watch, which he wore on his right wrist, caught his eye. _That's it! Mr. Tracy said use it in emergencies and this is one! I don't want IR here, but maybe John can get in touch with Alan!_

His fingertips, encumbered by the cast, fumbled with the button on the top, the one that Mr. Tracy had pointed out would activate the watch. He blinked in surprise as the wide LCD screen that had displayed the time just a second before blanked out, to be replaced by a tiny picture of John Tracy, his very blond hair looking slightly green in the display. His mouth was moving, as if he was saying something, and Fermat looked back at him, puzzled. He scanned the face of the watch and saw the button marked, "Alarm". _Let's see what this will do._

"...ermat, come in! What's your emergency!" John's voice sounded very loud in the night quiet.

Fermat looked around and then called softly, "John, can you hear me?"

"Yes! Finally! What's the emergency, Fermat?"

His shoulders hunched over to keep the little screen from prying eyes, not that there were any around. "There's a g-g-g... bunch of older b-boys around the corner of the d-dorm that are holding a-a-a... someone else! I n-need Alan!"

John frowned. "Didn't Dad tell you how to use this to communicate with each other?"

Fermat's eyes grew wide behind his glasses. "No! It can d-do that? C-Cool!"

John rolled his eyes. "Okay. I'll download the instructions to yours and Alan's email boxes as soon as I can. It will come from my personal box. But for now, I'll buzz Alan for you and connect the two of you. Stand by."

_We can use these to talk to each other? Sweet!_

Alan was moving through the crowds in the auditorium, looking for his friends and renewing acquaintances with other boys from the year before. He caught Miss Gerrick watching him, and nodded at her, then turned to walk away. Suddenly his watch vibrated, leaving his arm feeling as if an electric shock had gone through it. "Agghh!" he cried, first shaking the limb, then grabbing his wrist, nearly doing a little jig in his surprise. Looking around, he saw people looking at him, with a variety expressions, from puzzlement to frowns of irritation.

He smiled sheepishly and gesturing to his wrist, said, "Uh... spider." Turning, he hastily left the auditorium, looking for a nice quiet spot so he could examine the device. Ducking into the nearest restroom, he shut himself in a toilet stall, and looked at the watch. The numbers that told him the time had been replaced with a blinking message that said "Incoming Transmission". _What do I do here? Let's see what happens if I press... this._

Putting a finger on the button that his father said would signal John, he was surprised and pleased to see his blond older brother looking back at him. "Hey, John! What's up?"

"Fermat needs you," John said succinctly. "I'm going to link you to him now. I'll talk to you later, though. Transferring, now."

John's bright hair was replaced by the fish-eye image of Fermat's pale face, looking gray in the lack of light. "Fermat, where are you? What's wrong?"

"I'm on the walk b-b-between Oakwood and M-Maplewood, Alan," he hissed, the near whisper sounding louder than it should to Alan's thinking. "There are s-some older b-boys, or maybe even m-m-m... adults, holding s-s-s... come quick, Alan! I gotta g-go help!"

"Fermat! Wait!" he cried, but it was too late. Fermat's face disappeared, but the picture didn't stop. It swung crazily around, with light and dark objects whipping past, indistinct. He heard Fermat call out to someone, but couldn't make out what he was saying.

_Damn! Gotta go help. But I'll pick up some backup on the way out. _

Alan slammed open the toilet stall door, and ran for the hallway, ducking under the arms of a couple of seniors who were entering the restroom, and who gazed after him in surprise as he slipped past. He hurried into the auditorium, looking frantically for Qaeshon, or Jason, or any of his other close buddies. Finally, he spotted Jason, and with him, Ralph. He quickly made his way through the crowds to them, pulling on Jason's sleeve.

"C'mon. Fermat's in trouble."

Jason frowned. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"Don't know yet," Alan said, figuring it was too hard to explain at that point. He yanked on Jason's arm. "Come _on_!"

The threesome left in a hurry, Alan picking up the rear at first, glancing back to see if anyone noticed or was following. Then he took the lead, breaking into a sprint that took him through the tiled, covered area that separated the cafeteria from the rest of the Student Union building, which housed public spaces like the infirmary and the game room. Jason was hard-pressed to keep up, but Ralph matched Alan stride for stride as they pounded up the walkways.

As they reached the space between the two buildings, Alan slowed, motioning for his back up team to be quiet. Then he motioned for them to follow his lead. Crouching low, the three young men crept up on the scene, hearing only a couple of low voices beyond the bushes. The leader waved his hand at his followers in a silent command to draw near, then hissed, "On three." Then he put his fingers up one at a time and when the third finger made its appearance, the trio rushed out of concealment. Alan had opened his mouth to shout, but was suddenly brought up short, physically and mentally, by the sight of Fermat, unharmed, standing upright and supporting a disheveled and upset Qaeshon.

Alan put his hands up and said, almost casually, "Oh, hey, Fermat."

Ralph shook his head and detoured around his fearless leader. "Kay! What happened?"

"They tore up my orchestra jacket!" The dark-skinned boy was almost weeping in his anger and frustration.

Jason made a turn around the site, looking at the scattered and shredded papers strewn all over the grass. "And they tore up your music, too," he reported.

"How many were there, and what did they want?" Jason asked, putting his hand on Qaeshon's shoulder. He motioned his head toward Alan. "Go get Mr. Magnuson. He'll want to see this."

Alan nodded, and took off full tilt back the way he had come. On the way, he found Lee Sugimoto and Xavion Lewis talking in front of the Birchwood dorm, where Xavion lived. "Hey!" Alan called. "Xavion, Kay's been attacked..."

"Where? Where is he?" Xavion asked quickly, genuine concern coloring his voice. "Show me."

"Can't. Gotta get Mr. Mag," Alan explained.

"I'll get Mr. Mag," Lee told him. "You show Zave where Kay is."

Alan nodded and tapped Xavion on the forearm, leading him off to find his younger brother. A quick glance back showed Sugi running like the wind to the Student Union, where the security office was located.

As they neared the spot, they could hear Ralph gently questioning Qaeshon. "So, you didn't recognize any of them?"

"No," Qaeshon responded, calmer now that he was surrounded by his friends. "They were at least seniors, if not older... Zave!"

"It's all right, Kay," Xavion said, approaching his younger brother. "I'm here."

He was surprised to see Qaeshon back away from him. "You! You had something to do with this! I just know it! I wouldn't join track so you set these guys on me!"

Xavion's mouth dropped open. "Me?" he sputtered. "No way! I had nothing to do with this, Kay! Sure, I'd like you to join track, but... I know how much you love music. If I couldn't persuade you on my own..." He gestured toward the scattered, torn shreds of music. "Kay, I'd never do this to you. Honest."

Alan's eyes flicked from brother to brother. He quickly stepped forward, and put himself between the two young men, body facing the elder, but looking over his shoulder at the younger. "Kay, calm down. It's cool. We'll get to the bottom of this." He turned his head back to speak to the elder brother. "Zave, maybe you'd better see what's keeping Mr. Mag, huh? It's getting late and I for one don't want to be caught outside after curfew."

Xavion glowered at Alan for a moment, then his shoulders relaxed and he nodded. "I'll see what's keeping Mr. Mag." Turning, he strode out of the clearing, his stride breaking into a run as he went in search of security.

"Thanks, Pinky," Qaeshon said, putting a hand on Alan's shoulder. He sighed, crossed his legs at the ankles and sat down heavily. Looking up at Alan, Jason, and Ralph, he gave the boys a half-hearted smile. "I was so glad to see you guys show up." He motioned toward Fermat. "But not as glad as I was to see the Brain over there. He came running around the corner, yelling at the top of his lungs. By that time the guys were already taking off, yelling at me, dissing me. But the Brain made them move a little faster, I think. He sounded like some sort of... I don't know... some sort of horde or something."

Fermat blushed, though it was hard to see in the darkness, and he shrugged. "H-Had to d-d-d-d... act."

Ralph squatted down so he was eye level with Qaeshon. "So, what did they want?"

Qaeshon shook his head slowly. "I dunno. They kept going on and on about what a wimp I was, playing music when I could be going out for a sport. Kept talking about how lame the classics were and that maybe if I could play rock I'd be worth something." He lowered his head and picked at the grass. "Those are some of the kinds of things Zave says to me sometimes. That's why I thought he might have put these guys up to it." He paused, then said, "I'm damn glad I didn't have my violin with me. No telling what they would have done to that."

"Yeah. I'm glad it's safe," Alan said, crouching down. "Listen, Kay? I know you don't want to hear this right now, but... I don't think Zave had anything to do with this. He seemed too... shocked about it when I told him." Putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, he continued, "I know all about brothers and their reactions. I can usually tell if mine are pulling my chain or are really being... real. Y'know? Well, except maybe for Gordon if he's playing a prank. He's got wide-eyed innocent down pat." He squeezed the shoulder. "Cut him some slack and let Mr. Mag work on this. He'll find out who did it."

Qaeshon sighed again. "Yeah, okay, Pinky. I'll... cut him some slack." He held out his fist and first Alan, then Ralph each tapped it with his own. There was a rustling, then a figure carrying a bright flashlight came around the corner. The boys all turned to see who it was, the ones still standing up squinting in the light.

"So, looks like we've had a bit of trouble here," came the deep voice of the head of campus security, Mr. Magnuson. He strode into the clearing, accompanied by Xavion and Lee. "Who's going to tell me what's been going on?"

xxxx

Mr. Magnuson had almost completed gathering the evidence he needed, and had questioned all the boys. He was still talking to Quashon, telling him that the local police might need to be brought in. Jason gestured for Ralph to join him, then pulled Alan and Fermat aside. He folded his hands across his chest and glared at the two buddies. "Okay, Pinky. Spill. How did you know about all this? You said Fermat was in trouble. How did you know?"

Alan and Fermat glanced at each other. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Alan was about to open his mouth and say, "Uh, lucky guess?" when Fermat jumped in. He held out his right arm and said simply, "This!"

Now it was Ralph and Jason's turn to give each other a look. Jason's face took on a puzzled expression as he studied Fermat's arm. "What?"

Alan frantically nudged Fermat, but the younger boy had an idea and was going to go through with it. "The w-w-watch! Isn't it c-c-c... great? It's a t-t-two-way wrist r-r-radio!"

Ralph and Jason closed in on Fermat, looking at the watch as well as they could in the dark. "It's cool... if that's what it is," Ralph stated. "How'd you get it?"

"F-F-From my dad!" Fermat explained. "W-We're b-b-b-beta testing it f-for him." He looked over at Alan as if asking for support.

Alan nodded slightly, then stuck out his own arm. "Yeah. Tracy Industries wants to be the first on the market with them. Pretty soon they'll replace cell phones..."

Fermat frowned at him over the heads of the other two boys and Alan knew he'd gone one step too far in his explanation. He shrugged slightly at Fermat, basically saying that what was done was done.

"Wow! That's pretty cool!" Jason said, finally looking up from his scrutiny of Alan's watch. "I'm gonna tell my folks I want one."

"Welllll," Alan hemmed. "It'll be some time before they're on the market, y'know, and that's only if the beta testing goes well. So it wouldn't help much to ask for one now."

"R-R-Right!" Fermat chimed in. "It could be a y-y-year or more before they're in p-p-production. M-M-M... Closer to t-t-two or th-three."

"Oh, okay," Jason said, nodding in agreement. "Tell me when they're ready to buy, though. I really want one!"

"Sure!" Alan lied, knowing full well that the watches would probably never be used outside his family.

"Hey, guys," Ralph said, looking at his own watch. "We'd better get moving. Curfew's in five minutes and lights out is in twenty."

They all looked back at Qaeshon, still talking to Mr. Mag, Xavion by his side. Lee saw them gazing over there, and came to join them. "You ready to go, Tracy? Mr. Mag said he'd give Kay and Zave special permission to stay up late and talk to the locals when they arrive."

"Yeah, I'm ready." The two roommates started off. Alan turned around, walking backwards as he pointed at his friends with both hands. "See you guys at breakfast. Fermat, look for me. I doubt Kay's going to be awake for it."

"R-R-Right!" Fermat pointed with his one good hand back at Alan, who turned around again and followed Lee out into the quadrangle.

"C'mon, Jase," Ralph said, giving his roommate a nudge. "See you tomorrow, Brain."

"O-Okay. Later, g-g-guys," Fermat responded. The two boys left, and after a moment, Fermat followed. He hurried along the walkway to Maplewood, and climbed the stairs to the lobby. Once in the elevator, he slumped against the wall, feeling tired and sleepy. When the elevator door opened, he stumbled down the hall to his room, putting his good hand up to the scanner lock.

The door slid open to reveal Andrew John Trumbull lying on his bunk, elbows propping him up, reading from a novel. He was already wearing his pajamas, and he looked down at Fermat with a raised eyebrow. "Where have_ you _been?" he asked, a touch of snideness to his voice.

Fermat glared up at him, then turned to pull his own nightwear from his drawers. "H-H-H... aiding a f-friend. N-N-Not that it's any of your b-b-business."

"I hope that coming in this close to lights out isn't going to be a habit. I like to go to bed early."

Fermat didn't even reply. He took his clothes into the bathroom and changed, fumbling with the pajama pants but happy that he had a button down top that he could ease over his cast. The five minute warning sounded as he was dealing with the last button. He stuffed his dirty uniform into the mesh bag, used the toilet, washed his hands and brushed his teeth. When he came back into the room, he made a mental note to put his laundry bag out for pick up in the morning, and wondered if he should mention to Trumbull that the next day was laundry day. _No, _he decided. _Trumbull's a smart kid. He'll figure that out himself. _The boy in question already had his blanket pulled up and nearly covering his head.

The lights went out just as Fermat had pulled the covers down. Snuggling in with a sigh, he closed his eyes_. If only I'd just rushed in when I first heard the struggle,_ he thought sadly. _Maybe those guys wouldn't have torn up the music. But then again, maybe they would have turned on me. Why is it so hard to know what to do?_

xxxx

Alan was looking forward to his strength training class with Mr. Beccara. He had done some with his brothers over the summer and expected to continue at the level he was at when he left the island. But the first class was spent introducing the class to the equipment, and today, Mr. Beccara was going over the major muscle groups. "You have to know what muscle groups you're working before you start, because each exercise we'll be doing will target one or more of these groups."

He clicked his computer's remote, and on the wall appeared a chart. It had two male figures on it, one a front view and the other seen from behind, but looking as if the skin had been stripped away and all you could see were the muscles. Using a laser pointer, he began to circle the major muscle groups and name them. Alan looked down at the corresponding paper handout and began to fill in the names as Mr. Beccara indicated where on the body they were and flashed up the correct spelling of the groups. _This is boring, _he thought. _I want to get to the gym!_

Fermat was having difficulty in his pre-engineering class. Despite the fact that he could type almost as fast with one hand as two, he was far less accurate and found he had to go back and correct some of the spelling in his notes. It galled him to have things typed inaccurately; like his father, he was a perfectionist when it came to research or design. Not necessarily when it came to the way he dressed or keeping clean. He glanced down at his shirt cuff at one point and noticed, almost offhandedly, that he had a glob of ketchup smeared there from his lunch. The observation occupied a split second of his thought, then he was back to taking notes, the little fact tucked away for a later, exasperated realization.

Their last period classes could not have ended any sooner. Alan was itching to run back to his dorm and change into his athletic clothes for the track tryouts. Fermat was drowsy from the warmth of the classroom, and the effects of his painkiller. So when the final bell rang at 2:50, they were ready. Alan crammed his books into his backpack, folding and crumpling the papers he had received from the teachers that day. Fermat slowly, sleepily filled up his bookbag and put his computer into its case. Then he plodded out to the hallway, where Alan was waiting, bouncing up and down impatiently.

Alan grabbed Fermat's bookbag, and said, "Come on! I've got to get to the tryouts!" then took off down the hallway to the stairs. He waited for Fermat to catch up, motioning for him to hurry.

But the younger boy felt like he was moving through molasses, and couldn't seem to put on enough speed to suit the eager Alan. "Alan! W-W-W... Hold up!"

Alan stopped again, and looked back, then jogged back to where Fermat stood, leaning against the wall. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Y-Y-Y-eah, I'll be f-f-fine," Fermat said. "Listen, I'm j-j-just slowing you d-down. I'll t-t-take the bookbag and you g-g-go on."

"Are you sure?" Alan frowned at his friend, as he handed over the bookbag.

"Y-Y-Yeah. G-G-Go on." Fermat waved a hand. "I'll f-f-find someone to h-h-h... assist me."

With one last, worried glance back at his friend, Alan hurried off, sprinting toward his dorm so he could change.

Fermat leaned up against the wall and sighed heavily. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and when he put them back on he found himself meeting the gaze of Andrew John Trumbull. His roommate looked him up and down. Fermat straightened, pulling himself to his full height, an eyebrow rising behind his lenses. Then Trumbull shrugged and followed the dwindling crowd out of the building.

The tired teen slipped the strap to the computer case over his head, settling it so it crossed over the sling, then wearily picked up the heavy bookbag. He took a few steps away from the wall and was nearly run down by Qaeshon.

"Hey, Brain!" the dark-skinned boy said. "What's up? Where's Pinky?"

"H-He's off t-t-to t-t-track tryouts," Fermat explained. "I was s-s-slowing him down."

"Well, you look pretty whipped if I do say so myself," Qaeshon remarked, taking the bookbag from Fermat's hand. "Hey, I owe you for last night. Let me help you haul this back to your room. Then I've got to run to the music room and talk to Mr. Giotta about the music and the coat."

The two of them walked out of the building and up toward the Student Union. "So, you got much homework?" Qaeshon asked.

"Not too m-m-much," Fermat said. "I th-think I m-m-might call my d-d-d... father. Just to t-t-touch base."

"Good idea. I had to talk to mine last night about the whole incident," Qaeshon said ruefully. "He wasn't too happy about the extra expense, but he knew it wasn't my fault."

Fermat nodded in agreement and sympathy. _Yeah, I'm sure I'll be hearing from **my** dad about using the new radios last night. _He turned to Qaeshon. "D-D-Do they know who d-did it?"

"Nah. Mr. Mag said it was too soon," his friend replied. "But they hope that there were fingerprints left on the music or something. At first they were kinda bummed that we had trampled all over the place, but I think they found footprints farther away." He made a face. "Mr. Mag says that investigations like this take time, but not to get my hopes up. Bullying isn't on the top of the police department's list of major crimes."

"Your d-d-dad gonna d-do anything?"

Qaeshon shrugged. "Replace the coat and the music and check in with the cops every so often. He tells me not to run around campus alone at night anymore. Can't help doing that sometimes, though."

"I-I know." It had just occurred to Fermat that _he _had been walking around alone that night too. Suddenly, the small campus that he had considered safe didn't feel as safe anymore.

xxxx

Alan ran up to the athletics field and made his deadline with just a few minutes to spare. Coach Evans stood with a number of seniors, including Lee Sugimoto and Xavion Lewis, talking to a small group of underclassmen. Alan joined them and watched as Lee pointed out something to coach, who didn't even break stride in his lecture as he made a mark on his electronic clipboard.

"Okay. Lewis here will take you out and lead you in some warm up and stretching exercises for fifteen minutes. Don't skimp! Stretching and warm up are extremely important no matter what sport you're into. When the fifteen minutes is up, he'll direct you to whatever area of track and field you're interested in, and either myself or Mr. Becarra will be watching and judging your performance. And before you ask: no, the final cuts won't be made today. Now, follow Lewis."

Alan hung back as Xavion led the aspiring team members out to the grassy oval within the track. Coach Evans looked up and said, "I've got you, Tracy. Get out there and warm up."

Grinning, Alan said, "You got it, Coach." Then he hurried to catch up with the rest of the small group.

Xavion lead the group through some calisthenics and stretches. Alan felt right at home; these were the things John had done with him before they went running, and Scott had done with him when he was teaching martial arts or if they were in the weight room. He'd had it drilled into his head that warming up was integral to getting the body ready for action and keeping it from getting injured so easily. As a result, the fifteen minutes flew by and Alan had worked up a healthy bit of sweat. The older boy then directed two thirds of the group over to the track's starting line, where Mr. Becarra waited. The rest of the boys, five in number, were asked individually what they planned on doing.

"High jump and pole vault," Alan said when asked. "Oh, and cross country, too."

"Over there for the jumps, Tracy," Xavion informed him, pointing down the field to where the vaulting bar and the foam cushion for landing had been set up. "Cross country is tomorrow. Make sure you tell Coach that you're interested."

"Okay. Thanks!" Alan said, and he jogged down the field toward his goal. As he did, the first set of sprinters came barrelling around the oval and down the straightaway.

"There you are, Tracy," Coach Evans said as he approached. "I want to see this little jumping maneuver that Sugimoto says you have. You ready to show me?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm ready," Alan said, his palms suddenly becoming a bit more sweaty.

"Sugimoto measured the distance to the top bunk in your room, and the bar is set just a couple of centimeters below that. Let's see how you do."

Alan pulled back at an angle to the bar, trying to get a feel for how far back he needed to go. It was easier in the dorm; after all, he had a wall or door to stop him. When he felt he was back far enough, he took a deep breath and began to run toward the bar.

He knew he was in trouble before he even got to it. He had gotten too far out and it had taken too many strides for him to approach the take off point. As a result, his stronger leg, the one that he was used to pushing off with, wasn't in the position to propel him upwards as high as he needed to go. It was too late to stop, so he tried pushing off with the other leg. He twisted in mid-air, watching as the bar passed before his face, then he fell with a graceless thump onto the foam cushion.

Bouncing back up, and muttering a cuss word under his breath, he clenched his fists in frustration. The coach was making notes on his electronic pad, and Alan strode up to him. "Please, Coach. Let me try again. I'm better than that. I do this all the time."

Coach Evans looked up at him, and Alan saw his reflection in the old man's sunglasses. "Can you tell me why you weren't able to do it this time?"

"Yeah, I can. I got too far back and the leg I usually launch with wasn't in position when I reached the bar."

The coach looked over at Lee, who stood impassively nearby, then nodded his head. "Okay, Tracy. Just as long as you didn't choke. Go ahead and give it another shot."

Alan smiled grimly and nodded. He measured back from the bar this time, getting a feel for the distance he needed. This time, he took a couple of deep breaths, drawing the air in through his nose and letting out through his mouth. He stood still for a moment, then began to run toward the bar again.

This time he knew he had it. His leg was positioned just right and propelled him upwards. Time seemed to slow as he turned in mid-air again, presenting his back to the bar, feeling his shoulders slide over it without touching, the rest of his body obediently following. He got a tiny glimpse of his own feet, about to hit the bar and possibly dislodge it. Throwing his hips downwards, he propelled his feet up, coming down with what seemed to be an agonizing slowness onto his rump, creasing the thick cushion. He slapped his arms down as if he were being thrown by Scott during a judo class, and suddenly, it was over. Time resumed its normal speed, and Alan found himself bounced up a bit by the spongy pad. He glanced over at the coach, who was nodding slowly, a small smile on his lips.

"Not bad, Tracy, not bad. We'd have to work on technique a little, but overall, a decent jump."

Alan grinned. _I may have just found my sport!_

For Alan, the rest of the tryouts weren't quite as triumphant as his high jump. When asked if he knew how to pole vault, he had to admit that he didn't, and the coach waved him aside to let those who had had some experience through. Alan was surprised that some of the newer boys had the experience. _Wonder what kind of middle schools **they** went to? _Coach Evans did want him, and all the boys were interested in the field events, to try out for the long jump and the triple jump. Alan didn't do as well with the latter, but the coach looked pleased with the former. Alan passed on the shot put and the discus throw, but tried his hand at the javelin. He didn't think he'd done too badly, but it was hard to say.

By the time all of this was done, the afternoon was darkening into evening, and the field's lights had come on. Mr. Becarra brought the weary runners over to the smaller group that was gathered around the coach.

"Now, boys. Tomorrow there will be two more events to try out for: cross-country and the hurdles. I want to know who is interested in trying out for those events. Cross-country first."

Several boys, including Alan, raised their hands. Mr. Becarra helped the coach with the names of those who wanted to sign up, then the coach repeated the process with those interested in the hurdles. When that was finished, the coach spoke to the group.

"It was very evident to both me and to Mr. Becarra that you were all trying hard today. You should all be proud of the effort you put forth. It's going to be difficult for me to make the final selections. However, if you don't make the cut, don't let it get you down. Instead, take your energy and enthusiasm and put it to good use in one of the school's other extracurricular activities." He paused. "Okay, you're all dismissed. I'll see those of you who are trying out for the remaining two events here tomorrow at three thirty, sharp."

Alan rotated his shoulders as he started walking back to Chetwood. He felt like getting a shower and clean clothes before eating dinner.

"Hey, Tracy!"

Alan turned to see Lee and Xavion come up on either side of him. "You did great today, Tracy," Lee said with a grin.

"Is it true that you jump like that to get into bed every night?" Xavion asked, a bit of challenge in his voice.

"Well, yeah. Unless I'm sick or something," Alan said with a shrug.

"I saw it from across the field where I was helping Mr. Becarra and I was_ im_-pressed," the older boy admitted. "You'll be a great addition to the team." He glanced down at his feet then raised his head to meet Alan's eyes. "And... thanks for helping out Kay last night. I'm glad you were there when he needed you." His mood changed and he threw a conspiratory arm around the younger boy's shoulders. "Now, what is this name Kay has for you? Pinky?"

"Pinky?" Lee said, beginning to grin as he saw how Alan squirmed at Xavion's use of the name. He slid an arm around Alan's shoulders from the other side.

"Where'd you learn that?" Alan asked, glaring at Xavion.

The older boy looked off into the distance, smiling serenely. "Oh, a fellow lab mouse let it slip last night while we were talking with Mr. Mag." He glanced down at Alan, and spoke directly into his ear. "So, is it true?"

"Well, uh, yeah." Alan mumbled, his face getting red. "Fermat is the Brain, and I'm... uh... Pinky." Then he pointed at each of the seniors in turn and said in a louder voice, "But only my _friends _can call me that."

"Narf!" Xavion said before he burst into laughter.

"Hey, _we're_ your friends now, aren't we... Pinky?" Lee said slyly as they stopped in front of Chetwood

Alan sighed heavily and nodded._ Oh, God. By tomorrow, **everyone** will be calling me 'Pinky'. I think I'd rather die._

* * *

Does Fermat get chewed out for using the wrist telecomms? Does Alan? Will Alan make the team? Will everyone call him "Pinky"? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB channel. 

Now for my reviewers:  
**fellowriverrat: **No, nothing froze over. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. The boys know they're special and with a special destiny, but like most teenagers, they do want to fit in. And why didn't they get me to write the script? I don't know; ask Universal and Working Title.  
**Math Girl: **Yep, Fermat's to the rescue! ;)  
**mcj:** Thanks you for the compliments! I hope to bring out the action I can see and hear in my head for your enjoyment.  
**Iniysa: **I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thanks for the nice words!  
**darkhelmetj: **Sigh. I know that perserving the stutter helps flesh out the characters as well as preserve them. I'll continue. Thanks for the compliments on how I write Fermat and on the family dynamics. Not much of them in this chapter, I'm afraid. Alan has learned a few things over the summer, and has gained a new sense of maturity, but you'll find that in some ways, Fermat is acting_ his _age, especially when it comes to AJT. Like you, I'm the oldest of my generation, but in the generation that I'm raising, it's the little guy who clashes most with the elder ones. Fermat has the advantage of being eldest/only child in his family, which allows him to react differently to older people, including the Tracy brothers. Re: John and track. That's a page I'm taking from the TV show/comic book. I haven't found an official biography from the movie that lists such details; at least, not online. If anyone could supply one, I'd be grateful.  
**Lily Flower 1000: **Thanks for the great comments. Sorry this took so long, but I got a little stuck on the athletic stuff.


	6. Unaccountable Thaw

_Author's note: _A surprising turnaround for one of the characters, and gadzooks! A rescue! Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

The satellite phone rang and rang through the earpiece in Fermat's ear and he yawned. He was still feeling lethargic, even after the walk to Maplewood with Qaeshon, and looked forward to taking a nap after talking with his dad. Suddenly, the phone stopped ringing and he could hear his father say, "Hackenbacker h-h-here." 

"Hey, D-Dad."

Hiram hurried to plug in his own earpiece with the boom mike so he could see his son on the phone's tiny screen. He smiled and leaned back in his ergonomically correct swivel chair, slowly twirling it away from his workbench. "F-F-F... Son! It's g-g-good to hear your v-v-v... it's good to hear from you. H-How's that arm?"

"St-Still hurts, sometimes, b-but the m-m-m... painkiller helps," Fermat admitted as he unconsciously echoed his father's movements. "Makes me s-s-sleepy, though." And, as if to underscore the point, he yawned, covering his mouth with his hand.

"M-M-Make sure you're getting your r-rest," his father cautioned. "N-N-Now, tell me what h-h-h... went on last n-night. John reported that you u-used your w-w-watch. He m-m-made sure we knew it w-was an e-e-e... it was important."

"It was, D-Dad," Fermat answered, and proceeded to tell his parent all about what happened to Qaeshon and his part in the affair.

Hiram nodded as his son recounted the tale, his face growing more and more serious. "Sounds like you did w-well, son, in s-s-s... helping your f-friend. Good j-job."

"Somehow, I think I should have h-helped sooner. M-Maybe they wouldn't have ripped up the m-m-m... papers."

"You m-might not have been able to s-s-s... keep them from doing that, F-Fermat," Hiram said kindly. "The i-i-important thing is that you were there for your f-f-f... for Qaeshon."

"I guess s-so," the boy replied.

"I _kn-know _so," his father said grinning, punctuating his point with a finger that loomed large on the screen. "Now, what of A-Alan and track? Has he m-m-made the team? J-Jeff hasn't h-heard from him since s-s-s... since you got there."

Fermat shrugged. "He hasn't t-told me yet. The t-tryouts were t-today. Maybe I'll f-f-f... learn at dinner."

"M-Maybe. And what about you and the a-a-a-academic quiz team?" The man smiled again, almost as much for actually spitting out the word he wanted as to encourage his son.

"Oh! Yeah!" Fermat cried, suddenly remembering that he was also having "tryouts" of a sort. "Th-The qualifying test is t-t-tomorrow after classes." He looked down modestly. "But the team c-c-c... leader doesn't think I'll have any p-problems."

"Well, as I s-said before, send me your s-s-schedule and I'll try to make it to a m-meet or two."

"That would be so gr-gr-great!" Fermat's face practically glowed with pleasure as he beamed at his father.

"I think so t-too, son."

Fermat looked away as the door swished open, and his roommate walked in. "I think I'd b-better go, Dad. I'd like to c-catch a nap before d-dinner."

"O-Okay, son." Hiram smiled softly across the miles. "We'll t-talk again s-soon. Love you."

"Love you too, Dad," the boy echoed. "B-Bye now." Fermat terminated the call and sighed.

Andrew John Trumbull was unloading his books onto his desk. He glanced keenly over at Fermat. "Talking to your parents?"

"Yeah, but it's j-just my d-dad," Fermat replied simply.

"Where's your mom?"

The older boy shook his head. "Don't know. She's not d-dead, but D-Dad doesn't talk about her m-much." Returning Trumbull's frank gaze, he asked, "Where are y-y-your folks?"

Trumbull shrugged and returned to emptying out his backpack. "I dunno. Dad's probably in Geneva, where the world courts are. He's a lawyer, specializes in international law. My mom and her man-of-the-month are probably some place exotic and warm, spending her alimony. I was supposed to be the glue that kept them together." He sighed heavily. "Not strong enough, I suppose."

"I'm s-sorry," Fermat said, and meant it.

"You know, this is the first time you've said anything to me that wasn't all angry sounding," the younger boy remarked. "Why is that?"

"Well, th-this is the first time you've said anything to m-me that hasn't been... sn-snobby," Fermat returned. "And you h-have to admit, when y-y-you walk into you room and find a s-s-s... someone you don't know messing with your st-stuff, it leaves a bad f-first impression."

"Hmm. I suppose it would; I didn't think of it that way." Trumbull made a face. "I've never been to a place where they pack them in like sardines the way they do here."

"Wh-What do you mean?" Fermat asked, his voice a warning to Trumbull that his comment wasn't particularly well received.

"At the schools I've gone to before, I always had a private room." The boy shuffled his feet a little and said, very matter-of-factly, "I've never had a roommate imposed on me before."

"W-Well, I was e-expecting to room with my friend, Alan, so I w-wasn't thrilled about g-getting a stranger, either. I st-still might be rooming with him. D-Depends on what M-Mr. Tracy does at the director's m-m-m... session next month."

Trumbull regarded Fermat with a slight frown. "Then I'd have to get used to somebody new."

"Maybe, maybe n-n-not," the older boy replied. "Depends on wh-what happens. Who knows? You might get a private room a-after all."

There was a silence between them for a moment, then Trumbull stepped over to Fermat with his hand out. "I think I'd like to start over. Hi, my name is Andrew John Trumbull. What's yours?"

Fermat looked at the hand for a minute, then took it and shook it once. "My name is Fermat H-Hackenbacker. Nice to m-m-meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too." The exchange ended, the two boys looked at each other. Then Trumbull hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "What are those white plastic boxes out there?"

"Ah, my laundry!" Fermat levered himself out of his chair and stretched, yawning as he did. He loped over to the door and opened it, dragging in each of the two boxes one at a time. Opening the top one revealed his clean uniform shirts, pressed and vacuum wrapped to present the thinnest possible package. He began putting the clothes in his chiffarobe, placing some things in drawers or on shelves, and hanging others up. For trousers, he unfastened the special hangars that the school provided at one end and slid the now-open bar straight through the plastic. It was hard to do with just one good hand, but he managed.

"Laundry?" Trumbull asked, as he watched Fermat work. "Is that what those bags were up and down the hall this morning?"

Fermat groaned. "You d-didn't get yours out? I'm sorry, I thought you'd f-f-figure it out. They do our laundry t-twice a week. All your st-stuff is supposed to be marked with your name and put in the bag with y-your name on it. Then on l-l-l... wash days, you put the bag out into the hall and it comes back late in the a-afternoon, in boxes like these. You p-put your clothes away and put the b-boxes back in the hall. They'll pick them up some time in the m-morning."

"I didn't know about that," the younger boy said. "When will they do it again?"

Fermat thought for a moment. "In three days. I'll let you kn-know when."

"Huh. At my other schools, I usually had to send my stuff out to the cleaners. How'd they come up with this system?"

"I asked that last y-year. Seems it's been a tradition ever since the s-school started. No washing machines existed b-back then, so the school provided a l-laundry service, which c-cost extra. They tried to experiment with self serve l-l-l... washers and dryers in the 1970s, b-but most of the kids who go here are used to having their clothes washed for them, and besides, they kept d-damaging the machines. So they went b-back to the laundry service and made e-everyone pay for it."

"Hmm. Interesting."

"Something else you should kn-know," Fermat said. "There's a room inspection once a w-week. We have to keep the room cl-clean, and they make sure we do. That means no trash or junk on the floor, the c-carpet v-vacuumed, beds made, and the b-bathroom scrubbed out." He held out his arm. "I can do the vacuuming and take out the trash, but the bathroom..."

Trumbull held his hands up defensively. "Don't look at me! I've never cleaned a bathroom in my life!"

"You're going to have to l-learn," the older boy warned. "I can t-tell you what they look for, and they s-supply the cleaners and stuff. If we keep up with it, it's not h-hard."

"Can we talk about this later?" Fermat's roommate sat down at his desk. "I've got my first chorale rehearsal tonight and I have to get my homework done. And didn't I hear you say you wanted a nap?"

"O-Okay. We'll talk later. But they'll check our room on S-Saturday. And we c-can't go anywhere until they do."

"I'll take that under advisement," Trumbull said with a hint of sarcasm. Fermat shook his head, took off his shoes and glasses, and pulled out his portable music player. Fumbling a bit with his earphones, he finally got them situated comfortably and climbed in under the covers, clipping the tiny player inside his shirt pocket, under his vest. He had programmed it for his "thinking" playlist, a series of classical pieces that he knew so well he could tune them out while studying or listen to them when he needed soothing. So, between the painkiller that made him drowsy and the music that calmed him, Fermat found himself quickly falling asleep.

xxxx

It seemed like only a few moments later that he was being shaken awake. "Hey, Fermat. Wake up!"

He waved irritably at the intruder, but the person persisted. "If you don't wake up, you'll miss dinner."

At that, Fermat's eyes opened wider and he sat up, still groggy, the world a blur, the voice slightly indistinct. "Here." The boy, who sounded vaguely like Fermat's roommate, thrust a solid, familiar object into his good hand. "Your glasses."

Fermat's fingers automatically opened the frames up, and his hands tried to slide them on his face. But there was something wrong; he couldn't get the glasses over his ears. With a sudden realization, he put his glasses down next to him on the bed and reached up to remove his earphones. The world around him suddenly got louder and, as he finally managed to put on his glasses, much clearer.

Andrew John Trumbull was pulling a light jacket out of his own wardrobe, and turned toward Fermat as he zipped it up. "It's supposed to be chilly tonight. Hey, do you think I can sit with you and your friends?"

"Uh... s-sure," Fermat replied, pulling his shoes closer and putting them on. His feet shod, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled over to his wardrobe. He felt slightly dizzy and light headed. He pulled his jacket on over his cast, then slid his free hand into it. "G-Gotta stop by the i-i-i... nurse's office before dinner to get my p-p-p... medicine."

"Okay. That will help me find out where it is. I'm not familiar with the campus yet," Trumbull agreed amiably. "Let's go."

Once outside in the brisk air, Fermat's head seemed to clear and he found walking easier. The two boys didn't say much to each other; the only time Fermat spoke was when he was giving directions to the infirmary as they got closer. When they entered the outside waiting area, the nurse practitioner, a young, dark skinned woman whose name tag read Marlee Bell, CNS, got up with a smile. "Hello again, Mr. Hackenbacker. Let me get your medicine." She came back with a paper cup full of milk and a small plastic baggie with his pill in it. "Now, how is this medicine doing for you? Any nausea, vomiting, lethargy, dizziness?"

"I w-was a little dizzy g-getting up from my nap just n-now," Fermat explained as he took the pill in his hand. "I was really d-drowsy in class."

Ms. Bell frowned. "Hmm. Let's give it one more day, and if you're still too drowsy, we'll find something else."

Fermat nodded, and took the pill. Ms. Bell made him put his initials on his meds chart, and she put hers on, making a note about the drowsiness. Then the two boys left, heading for the nearby dining hall.

In the meantime, Alan had been waiting on the steps, looking for Fermat. He was bouncing up and down slightly in impatience, his hands in his jacket pockets; he could hardly wait to tell his friend all about the tryouts. But he began to notice that a few of the older boys walking by, ones he didn't even know, were greeting him with, "Hi, Pinky!" or "Hey there, Pinky!" He groaned. _Who did Lee and Xavion talk to? This'll be spread all over the school by morning at this rate! Kay's gonna get an earful at dinner, that's for sure!_

Suddenly, he heard his name... his _real_ name... called out. "A-Alan!" He grinned, and jogged down the steps to meet his friend. His grin faded a bit as he saw that Fermat's new roomie was tagging along. He raised an eyebrow at Fermat, and moved his head toward the other boy, his unspoken question in his eyes.

Fermat knew Alan well enough to interpret the body language. "It's o-okay. Alan, I'd like to i-i-introduce you to my r-roommate, Andrew John T-Trumbull. Uh... Andrew? This is my f-friend, Alan T-Tracy."

The younger boy put his hand out politely and said, "Pleased to meet you."

Alan took it and shook it firmly. "Likewise. C'mon Fermat! I'm starving! And I can't wait to tell you all about tryouts!" He put an arm around his friend to shepherd him inside. Fermat turned slightly and beckoned Trumbull to follow them.

"What's with the kid?" Alan hissed as they entered the dining hall. "I thought you didn't like him."

"W-We sorta... started over," Fermat commented in a low voice. "He made the f-f-first move."

Alan glanced back at their shadow and said, "Okay, if you say so. He can hang with us. But if he starts getting snotty..." He removed his arm from Fermat's shoulders and waved Trumbull up to join them.

They moved as quickly through the line as the crowd of hungry boys would allow, and when they made it to the end, Qaeshon was waiting to help with Fermat's tray. They could see Jason standing at the table they had grabbed, his bright red hair as much a beacon as his waving arm. "Kay, tell Jase we need an extra chair. Fermat's brought his roommate along," Alan said.

Quashon looked the newcomer up and down carefully, then said, "Okay. I hope he can grab one." Then he moved off with the tray, Alan, Fermat and Trumbull following at a slower pace.

As they reached the table, there was a cry of "Hey, Pinky!" almost in unison and from several different people. Alan colored and grimaced and looked across the wide room to see Lee Sugimoto and Xavion Lewis sitting with their friends, all of them seniors, waving in his direction and laughing, some even blowing kisses his way. Xavion's voice sounded a loud, "Narf!" which was picked up by the others at the table. Alan noticed that many other students were glancing between Lee's rowdy friends and himself and putting two and two together. He groaned again.

"Alan! Don't stand there looking like a deer in headlights! Sit down!" Ralph grabbed his tray and set it on the table and Alan quickly obeyed his friend's command. Jason had been able to commandeer another seat at the table, and Fermat gestured for Trumbull to take it.

"I'm sorry, Alan," Qaeshon said sincerely. "I accidentally let it slip last night after you guys had gone. Zave promised he wouldn't spread it around," and here Qaeshon shot an angry glance at his older brother, who wasn't even looking in his direction, "but it looks like he lied to me."

Alan sighed. "It's okay, Kay. I know_ you _didn't mean it."

"H-Hey, guys. I'd like to introduce my r-roommate, Andrew John T-Trumbull," Fermat said, smiling uneasily. Quickly, he gave the names of the others in their little group, and each said, "Hi" or "Hey" as he did so.

"Nice to meet you all," Trumbull said politely. He turned to his food and began to eat.

Fermat could tell he was uncomfortable. _He's probably not used to a group as diverse as this is._

"Hey, kid," Qaeshon said between bites, indicating Trumbull. "What do we call you? Andrew John's a clumsy moniker, if you know what I mean."

"Pardon me," Trumbull said politely, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "But I _don't_ know what you mean."

Jason swallowed a bite and jumped in to explain. "Well, we all have nicknames of one kind or another." He pointed to himself. "The guys call me Jase sometimes. Qaeshon is Kay, and his idiot older brother Xavion over there is Zave. Alan is Pinky, and Fermat's the Brain." He pointed to each of the group as he named them.

"What about you, uh... Ralph, is it?" Trumbull asked, unsure he had the name right.

"Oh, Ralph's just Ralph," Alan said, shrugging. "Not much you can do with 'Ralph'."

"Or would want to do with it," Qaeshon chimed in. The boys laughed, except for Trumbull, who had a confused expression. "But back to the original topic; what do we call you? Andy?"

"Oh!" Trumbull said, his face brightening. "Now I understand. You want to give me a nickname. I see." He frowned a bit, then shook his head. "Not Andy."

"I a-agree," Fermat said around a mouthful, nodding. "It doesn't f-fit."

"Drew?" Ralph suggested. At this, all the boys made negative sounds and shook their heads.

A few quiet momens went by as the boys tried to think of something appropriate. Suddenly, Jason exclaimed, "I've got it!" All of the boys turned their attention to him as he continued, "A.J. For Andrew John!"

The boys rolled this over in their minds for a minute and most of them began to nod and smile. "By George, I think he's got it!" Alan quipped. He turned to Trumbull. "What do you think?"

The boy sat for a moment, then shrugged. "It sounds okay. You can call me that if you want."

"Okay, from now on you're A.J.," Qaeshon said with a grin. "I think it fits."

"Good! Now that we've got that out of the way, let me tell you all about tryouts today!" Alan declared.

xxxx

The two friends walked back to Maplewood together after having stopped at Alan's room to snag his math book. The newly-christened A.J. had excused himself, reminding Fermat that he had chorale practice. This left Alan and Fermat some time alone to compare notes.

"I c-called my dad this a-afternoon," Fermat said. "He told me J-John had reported about our using the w-watches."

"Yeah, I got a message from Dad on my satellite about it. Thought he'd chew me out but he just said that he'd heard and reminded me to use it only in emergencies. He wants me to call him back, but I don't want to until I know about track."

"C-Call him back anyway, Alan. My dad mentioned that y-you'd not called. I think he wanted me to n-nudge you." He suited his words with action, nudging his friend in the ribs. Alan grinned and nudged him right back.

"I guess I will, then. After we finish our homework." They walked along quietly for a moment, then Alan continued, "I got an email from Tin-Tin today."

"Oh?" Fermat looked up at his taller friend, interested. "Wh-What did she say?"

Alan shrugged. "Not a lot. Just stuff that's going on at her school. Y'know, girly stuff. About her new friends and all. She addressed it to both of us. Guess she doesn't know that we're not rooming together. I forwarded it on to you."

"C-Cool!" Fermat exclaimed. "You want me to t-t-t... let her know we're not r-r-roommates?"

"Sure, knock yourself out," Alan said in a desultory tone. "I never know what to say anyway."

"You can t-tell her about t-track," the younger boy suggested. "She'd be interested."

"I guess so. I'll write later." They walked along quietly again. A thought came to Alan and he glanced over at Fermat. "Hey, what happened with you and the snob today? Why the turnaround?"

"I dunno." It was Fermat's turn to shrug. "I was on the phone with D-Dad and he came in. When I h-hung up, he asked me about m-my parents. I t-told him about my d-dad and asked him about his folks. His f-f-f... dad is an international lawyer and his m-mom has... uh... other m-men. They're d-divorced. Then we realized we were being c-c-civil to each other, and he s-suggested we st-start over. Y'know, he's been to private schools a lot but never had a r-roommate before. I don't think he knows h-how to act."

They had reached Maplewood by now and were climbing the stairs into the building. "I guess that makes sense, though," Alan said. "I mean, I've got my brothers and you, and you've got all of us, so we know how to act around other people we live with. If he doesn't have anyone like that and never has, he's got to learn."

"True."

They were quiet in the elevator and on their way to Fermat's room. Alan put his hand to the door lock for scanning, and when they entered the room, he immediately noticed the rumpled bed. "Hey, what happened here?"

"I t-took a nap after c-classes," Fermat said, sitting down at his desk. "The medicine was m-making me drowsy."

"Does Ms. Bell know?"

"Yes, I told her when I st-stopped for my evening dose. If it continues, she'll says we'll tr-try something else."

Alan nodded. "Sounds like a plan." He sat down on the floor and opened his math book. "So, let's get going."

Fermat smiled and pulled out his own textbook.

xxxx

Alan walked back to the dorm alone, whistling happily. He and Fermat had finished their math together and, thanks to his friend's tutelage, Alan felt he had a better grasp of the concepts they were studying. He looked up at the stars and sent a mental greeting to his brother John. He knew that from where he was now he could never see the actual spot of sky where Thunderbird Five was stationed, simply because it was in geosynchronous orbit over the South Pacific, where the rest of his family resided._ On the other side of the world, _he said to himself._ Wonder what everyone's up to right now?_

He took the steps up to the lobby of Chetwood two at a time and passed by the first floor common lounge on his way to his room. Some news program was showing on the plasma screen TV; Lisa Lowe was babbling on about something or other, and he paid it no heed. Instead, he knocked on the door to his room, heard a chorus of "Come in!", then put his hand up to the door to unlock it.

As he stepped inside, he saw a group of boys, mostly seniors, sitting on the floor in a rough circle. Each of them looked up at him as he made his way to his desk, and most of them, including his roommate, grinned and greeted him with some variation of, "Hi, Pinky!" He rolled his eyes as he put away the math book and pulled out his satellite phone. Turning, he was surprised to see the pile of chips in the center of the circle, and cards in just about everyone's hands.

Trey Mackenzie, who Alan recognized from his first day back at school, nudged Lee and murmured something in his ear. Lee nodded, then glanced up at Alan. "Hey, Pinky! You know how to play poker?"

"Yeah, I know how to play." Alan responded cautiously. Surprisingly, it was Virgil who had taught him the finer points of poker, having learned it in college from the son of a Las Vegas cardsharp.

"You do? Cool. Want to play? We can deal you in next hand," Lee offered.

Alan shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but no thanks. Maybe some other time." He had every confidence that he could hold his own in the circle, but he had something more important to do.

Lee shrugged noncommittally and Alan went into the bathroom for some privacy as he made his call. He put his earphone and mike combo in his ear so he could be seen by whoever answered. The phone rang and rang, and he was just about to give up when someone picked up on the other end. The words "voice only" appeared on the screen, and a familiar voice sounded in his ear.

"Tracy residence, Kyrano Belegant speaking. Who is calling?"

Alan smiled. "Hey, Kyrano! It's Alan. How are you? How's Onaha?"

The screen's words blinked out and the smiling face of his father's Malaysian retainer replaced them. "It is good to see you, Mr. Alan. Onaha and I are both fine; thank you for asking. And you? Are you well?"

"Yeah, I'm doing great! Heard from Tin-Tin today. Sounds like she is doing okay out there in England."

The retainer's smile faded a bit as he explained, "My daughter is lonely without you and Fermat, but her Ladyship has promised to take her shopping this weekend."

"Shopping," Alan snorted. "That'll cheer her up. Hey, is my dad around?"

"I am afraid he's not here, Mr. Alan. He and your brothers are away on... family business."

"Oh! Okay!" Alan said, surprised. "I understand. Tell my dad I called, would you please?"

"I will, Mr. Alan. Is there any message?"

"No, not really. Just tell him that I called and I'm sorry I missed him." Alan grinned. "Wait! I know! Tell him 'Tag, you're it!' for me."

The retainer's chuckled as he answered, "I will pass the message on. Is there anyone else you'd like to talk to?"

The boy shook his head.. "Not if everyone went out with him. Fermat's already talked to his dad. I'll let you go and wait for Dad to call back, okay? Say 'hi' to Onaha for me!"

"All right, Mr. Alan. I will relay your greetings. Have a good week at school. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Kyrano." The call ended and Alan frowned a bit. _Out on a mission! I wonder if it's on TV? _He pocketed his phone, told Lee that he'd be back soon, and went out in search of the common lounge and the plasma screen.

xxxx

It wasn't on the televid, not really, simply because of the remoteness of the rescue venue and the weather conditions of the site. But that didn't stop Lisa Lowe from babbling on about it from the University of Alberta, where the rescuees had started out. A small team of engineers and scientists had flown via helijet to the Upper Weather Station on the John Evans glacier in the Canadian Rockies to make repairs to the equipment there. While they worked, a previously forecast snowstorm moved in much more quickly than anticipated and the team found itself stranded in white out conditions. It was decided by the flight crews that the helijets which had flown up to the station weren't powerful enough to retrieve the team through the wild, white winds, so the University of Alberta called upon the only people they thought could get through the weather and rescue the scientists: International Rescue.

"Thunderbird One, keep your belly lights focused on that tent!" Jeff called into his communicator.

"F-A-B! I'm trying, but the winds are fierce up here," Scott called back through gritted teeth. He had been, as usual, first on the scene, and had used the thermal imaging equipment in One's nose to pinpoint the exact location of the five-man team. There hadn't been much for him to do until Thunderbird Two showed up but encourage the people on the ground, and use One's bulk as a windbreak on this desolate river of ice. He didn't completely land, just hovered near the surface of the glacier, shifting his position as the wind shifted and protecting the small group of Arctic tents that the team had set up.

In the space station, John had accessed the weather satellites that surrounded the Earth and had managed to pinpoint the spot where Scott was trying his best to keep the snow and gales from blowing the team's shelter away. The space monitor relayed shifts in wind direction on a moment-by-moment basis, helping the Thunderbird One pilot alter his position to provide better blockage. But it was a tough battle, keeping the lead Thunderbird still in the air, especially when the de-icing system was threatening to overload and the snow, heavy and wet, was beginning to stick.

At last the lights that indicated the bulky form of Thunderbird Two showed up in Scott's viewport, looking as if it were coming out of a dense fog. He could have cheered as the cargo carrier's bright spotlights were added to his own.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two," came the welcome sound of his father's voice. "What's the situation?"

"Thunderbird One here. We have five crew members, huddled together in the one tent. I've been trying to use One as a windbreak to both keep the structure from blowing away in these winds and to keep the worst of the snow off so it wouldn't collapse. I have had continuous contact with those inside and the leader reports that some of the team members are beginning to feel the effects of hypothermia. They aren't going to be able to help themselves much."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird One. You keep doing what you're doing and keep the site lit up. Gordon and I will be putting on our cold weather gear and taking down the rescue basket. John, relay the data from One's thermal imagers to Virgil so he can put us down as close to that tent as possible. We've only got one shot to do this. We need to do it right!"

"F-A-B," was John's reply.

Virgil had managed to make the minute adjustments in Two's orientation to plunk the rescue basket in the thick snow no more than two meters away from the tent. Jeff and Gordon stepped out, wearing thermal suits with helmets, bright personal lights and high-tech snowshoes, with Gordon carrying a laser to melt snow away from the tent's entrance.

Finding the entrance was a bit problematic as it was on the other side of the tent from the rescue basket. Once this was discovered, Virgil lifted the platform into the air, and moved it to the other side, while Gordon and Jeff pulled the first victim from the snow-covered structure and helped them over to the rescue basket. It was at this point that Thunderbird One had been snagged by a high gust, and its belly lights, so crucial to illuminating the scene, moved away and elicited the shout from Jeff.

Scott wrestled with the controls, bringing his craft back to its previous coordinates. He glanced with a worried eye at the de-icing system readouts, long gone into the red and inching up to the critical level. Soon it would shut down on its own and ice would begin to accumulate even that much more, possibly grounding the lead Thunderbird. "Come on, Dad," he muttered under his breath. "Get those people out of there!"

After three of the five scientists were safely aboard the rescue basket, Jeff sent it up to Thunderbird Two with Gordon. Scott grimaced. Now his father was down there with the scientists, waiting on the return of their transport. He watched as the basket, buffeted around by the winds, made a slow, choppy ascent into the belly of Thunderbird Two. The bay doors closed beneath it and Scott began to count the seconds until the platform made a reappearance. "Come on, Gordon. Get those people off of there," he whispered. He knew very well that Virgil couldn't just put Two on autopilot and go back to help; his younger brother was in the same boat as he was as far as keeping his craft in the air was concerned.

One hundred and eighty seconds later, the rescue platform came down again, empty. Gordon had stayed behind on his father's orders to bring the hypothermic scientists to the sick bay. Virgil had done yeoman's work, putting the platform down in nearly the exact same place. Now Jeff swung into action, pulling the fourth scientist from the tent and carrying him or her over his shoulder to the rescue platform. Scott battled with his controls to keep the spotlight on the scene, unconsciously biting his lower lip as his father plodded over the snow and back to the tent.

This time, Jeff had to climb into the tent itself. Scott could see the ripple of the snow that had built up on top of the structure as his father's helmet slid across the surface from beneath. Suddenly, the combination of the weight of the snow on top and the disturbance from beneath the surface caused the structure to collapse!

"Dad!" Scott shouted. He could hear Virgil making a similar cry in Thunderbird Two. The concavity that had been the tent didn't move. Scott swore, long and loud. But now his training kicked in and, after taking a deep breath,he took over.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One! Virgil, get that platform back up into your craft. Gordon, be prepared to receive the fourth scientist. Get him or her into the warmth as quickly as you can then get back down there with that laser!"

"F-A-B!" came the voices of both of his earth-bound brothers. The rescue basket began its ascent once again, the weight within shifting as the yellow structure moved with the wind. Scott began to worry that they would lose the scientist who lay on the deck. But at last the doors in Thunderbird Two's belly opened and the platform disappeared.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Five. What the hell is going on?" John asked, his voice worried and angry at the same time.

"The tent has collapsed under the weight of the snow, and the Commander is trapped inside," was Scott's sharp reply. He had begun to count the seconds again, and this time only counted to sixty-five before the doors opened again and Gordon made the descent, putting the winch into emergency mode and all but free-falling to the glacier. The basket landed with an almost audible crunch on the snow, and the second-youngest Tracy ran as quickly as the snowshoes would allow to where the tent had once stood.

Using the laser on its middle setting, he carefully began to melt away the snow from the top of the quickly filling depression, and as he did, the snow on top began to push upwards. Scott let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as their father crawled out of the tent, then stepped back in just a bit to brace the top so that Gordon could nip in and grab the final scientist. Gordon handed the laser to his father, and picked up the final victim in a fireman's carry to transport him to the waiting platform. Jeff plodded along behind, but he took a moment to raise two fingers in salute to his eldest son. "Damn, that snow was heavy!" he said, a little bit out of breath. "Thunderbird One, you'd better haul butt out of here. You're icing up. We've got things under control here."

"F-A-B, Commander. As soon as your ass is on board the big green bug, I'll head out," Scott replied, his no-nonsense tone carrying his worry and serious intent better than his words could.

There was a slight pause, then his father replied wearily, "F-A-B, Thunderbird One." Jeff stepped into the rescue platform, leaning against the rail as Gordon manipulated the controls and it ascended into the belly of Thunderbird Two for a final time.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two. What did you call my baby?" Virgil's peeved tone sounded in his ear. "A big green _what_?"

Scott laughed out loud. "You heard me the first time, Virge. Now, let's get the hell out of here. See you at the hospital in Edmonton, as per orders."

Virgil made some indiscriminate grumbling noises that sounded suspiciously like swearing, and Scott laughed again. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One. We got him out and we're heading for Edmonton. Stand down time...," he glanced over at his chronometer, "...19:45 hours, local time."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird One, and thanks for keeping me posted," John replied.

"F-A-B, Thunderbird One out." Scott watched as Thunderbird Two took off into the night, and then urged his craft forward through the winds, catching up with and pacing the bulkier craft as they headed toward the city of Edmonton and medical assistance.

xxxx

"Lights out in five minutes," came the voice over the loudspeaker. The crowd in the common room groaned and a few boys cussed. They had been watching the newscast, hoping for a glimpse of the Thunderbirds, which were supposed to make an appearance at the hospital in Edmonton at any moment. But now they began to disperse, knowing that not only would the lights go out in five minutes, but the televid would shut off as well. Alan sighed and began to follow the other boys out, glancing back to the still running commentary from Lisa Lowe, who seemed to have an awful lot to say but very little of importance as she waited for International Rescue to put in an appearance.

_Now I **really** wish I were rooming with Fermat,_ Alan groused to himself._ We could have followed the whole rescue through the downloads onto the tertiary drive. But no! We had to get split up. I hope Dad can do something to get us back in the same room. This is tearing me up being so far from home and not knowing what's going on!_

_

* * *

How will Fermat do in his testing? And will Pinky... er... Alan make the track team? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story! _

Now for my reviewers:

**Math Girl: **When Fermat thinks of a hero, he thinks of Jeff Tracy, or maybe his own Dad. It will take some doing for him to realize that there are many kinds of heroes, and that he is one of them. As far as Alan and track is concerned, next chapter, I promise.

**darkhelmetj: **Thanks for the good words about chapter 5, especially about the boys' dialogue. I'm trying for realism here, and hope I make it (without using four letter words every sentence or so; I know that's how the kids at my daughter's school talk. Oy!). As I said to Math Girl, right now Fermat has a different view on what constitutes a hero, and he doesn't see himself as one. Perhaps later he will. Went back to the official website for insights on the movie Thunderbirds and didn't come up with much. I hope that this rescue rings true. If it doesn't, mea culpa.

**Iniysa: **I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thanks for the nice words! _Masquerade_ got in the way of this chapter, but then I said that story would come first. Fortunately, the rescue just flowed out. The boys had been clamoring for one; I just finally realized it was the _movie _boys who were doing the clamoring!

**Rebellinn: **Thanks for the compliments! Hope you enjoyed this next installment!


	7. Undergoing Evaluation

_Author's note: _A.J. makes a startling statement and asks an interesting question, Fermat has some physical trouble, and Alan tries out for cross country. Forgive me if I've messed up on the cross country terms. And, yeah, I know I've had them eating a lot of meals, but at the age Alan and his friends are, food is _important_! Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Hey, Alan! Did you see that the Thunderbirds were in Canada last night?" Qaeshon asked at the breakfast table. 

"The Th-Thunderbirds? Where?" Fermat asked excitedly.

"They were in the Canadian Rockies, rescuing some scientists in a blizzard," Jason explained. He turned to Alan. "Did you see it?"

"Yeah, I saw the newscast. Too bad lights out came before they actually showed the crafts," Alan replied, spooning some jam onto his buttered biscuit.

Jason leaned forward and motioned his friends to lean in as well. "I've got a portable, battery-operated televid," he said softly. "The craft showed up about ten minutes after lights out. They were all wet and still had snow on their wings! Man, that Thunderbird One is awesome!"

"Yeah! I hear that Thunderbird Three is even more awesome than One!" Ralph added in an excited tone. "I hear it's taller than both One _and _Two!"

"It is." The boys turned as one to stare at A.J., who was cutting up his sausage patty.

"You've seen them? In person?" Qaeshon asked, his eyes wide. A.J., his mouth now full of meat, nodded.

"When?" Alan asked, his tone sharper than he meant it to be.

A.J. swallowed, took a sip of milk, and answered, "In the spring. My dad had business in London and took me with him while I was on break. I was near that big Ferris wheel, what do they call it? Oh yeah! The London Eye. All three of the Thunderbirds showed up. There were these two other things, too. A digging machine and a mini-sub. I wondered how they were going to get that big red rocket up into the air again without scorching the grass."

"Cool!" Jason said eagerly. He leaned over toward the younger boy. "Just so's you know, Pinky and the Brain are the school's biggest Thunderbirds fans."

"Did y-you see any of the guys who fly those th-things?" Fermat asked, trying hard to keep a touch of apprehension from his voice.

A.J. shook his head. "No, I was actually heading away from the Eye at that point and too far away to see anything but the Thunderbirds themselves. Still, those machines were magnificent."

"Gotta agree with you there, A.J.," Alan said with a grin. "They are awesome! Wish I could have seen them on the vid last night." _For more reasons than one!_

After breakfast, Alan walked with Fermat to their first period class, which was math. "Heard from your dad this morning?" he asked quietly.

"N-No. You?"

Alan shook his head. "No, but I hope to this afternoon. I called and tagged him."

Fermat chuckled. "H-Hope your game of phone tag doesn't g-g-g... last too l-long. I want to know what h-h-happened last night."

"Me, too. Smart move there, asking A.J. if he had seen the operatives."

"Th-Thanks. Don't w-want j-j-j... don't want to be a s-security risk."

"Agreed."

Math went well; Alan felt confident enough to volunteer an answer to a question and was pleased when his answer turned out to be correct. He was concerned, though, when Fermat showed signs of drowsiness toward the end of class. He nudged his friend, who had stopped taking notes on his computer, hoping to wake him before the teacher noticed, but it didn't work. Mr. Graboski came down the aisle to stand and look down at Fermat. "Are you with us, Mr. Hackenbacker?"

Fermat blinked several times and stared up at the teacher while trying to collect his thoughts. Alan jumped in, tapping the teacher on the arm. "Uh, Mr. Graboski? Fermat's on a painkiller for his arm that makes him really drowsy. I think maybe he should go see Ms. Bell."

The teacher raised one bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrow and his rheumy eyes flicked from one boy to the other. Then he gave a jerk of his head, indicating the door. "Take him. I'll want a note from Ms. Bell for both of you Monday morning."

"Yes, sir," Alan said as he gathered up his things and helped Fermat with his gear. Then he took his friend by the arm and propelled him out of the room. "Fermat?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

Fermat sighed heavily. "I'm just s-so... s-s-sleepy."

"C'mon. Let's get you to the infirmary," Alan said as he put a hand on his friend's back and shepherded him carefully down the stairs.

Ms. Bell was working in the treatment room when the two of them came in. "I'll be right with you, boys," she called as she poked her head out to see who was there. A few minutes later, a boy that Alan knew by sight came out, his forearm wrapped in a bandage. The two acknowledged each other, the injured boy left, then the nurse practitioner came out, drying her hands on a paper towel. "Now, what seems to be the problem?"

"Fermat's really sleepy, Ms. Bell. He couldn't stay awake in math class," Alan explained, as the nurse guided Fermat back to the examining room. She motioned to her assistant, who came over and helped the boy onto the examining table. She turned to Alan. "Who was the teacher?"

"Mr. Graboski."

Ms. Bell chuckled. "No wonder why he's drowsy." Removing Fermat's glasses, she examined his eyes, which caused her to make a "Hmmm" sound. "Fermat? How do you feel right now?"

"D-D-Dizzy. Sl-Sleepy," came the answer. Fermat's hand fumbled for his glasses and when he found them he slipped them back on.

"Okay. I think we're going to have to change medications here. You've got too much in your system right now and your body isn't processing it well. I want you to stay here and sleep it off where I can keep an eye on you. Alan, I'll give you a pass for your next class and you can go. Fermat should be all right. Sandy, write up a hall pass for Mr. Tracy here."

"I'll need one for Mr. Graboski..."

"Sandy, write that up, too, please. I'll email it later." Ms. Bell helped Fermat down from the examining table and guided him to a bed in the sick room. Alan poked his head in to watch as the nurse practitioner helped his friend take his shoes off, and covered him as he lay down on the bed. She murmured something and Alan saw Fermat clumsily remove his glasses and hand them to her. She put them in the drawer of the cabinet next to the bed. Then she covered the boy up and came back out into the hallway. She smiled at Alan. "Take a minute to put his belongings back there next to the bed please, Alan, while I sign the paperwork."

Alan did as he was told, giving Fermat's upper arm a squeeze before he left the room. He knew his friend was out of it; there had been no reaction to the squeeze and he could hear Fermat's quiet snore, which brought a smile to his face. "I'll tell Dev about this, sport. He'll make sure you still get to try out," he said softly.

Ms. Bell was waiting for him with a paper note when he returned to the waiting room. "He'll be okay, Alan. I'll probably release him late this afternoon. Here, take this. It will get you into your next period class. I'll email your excuse to Mr. Graboski. Better get going now."

"Thanks, Ms. Bell." Alan picked up his books and jacket and left the infirmary, heading for his next class.

The rest of the school day went by in a blur, except for strength training, where Mr. Beccara gave them a quiz on the names of the muscle groups and equipment they had been studying, and lunch, where everyone he sat with asked where Fermat was. A.J. came up to the table where the older boys were settled and looked around hesitantly. Jason waved him to a chair, and he sat down. Before A.J. could ask, Alan explained, "He's in the infirmary, sleeping off his medication."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks," A.J. said, sounding surprised. He picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and while he chewed, he gazed at Alan with a puzzled expression. When his mouth was empty, he asked, "Alan? Fermat said your last name was Tracy."

Alan sighed and the others groaned. They had gone through this before; people would hear about "the son of Jefferson Tracy" and try to either suck up to him for the sake of his father's influence and wealth, or hassle him because they were jealous. The first were usually found out because they would try to shove the others, especially Fermat, aside, and the second were dealt with by Alan's true friends, those who liked him for who_ he _was, and not for who his father was. And it helped that one of the requirements for hanging with Alan was to accept Fermat without reservation.

"Yeah, my last name is Tracy, and yeah, I'm the son of the billionaire ex-astronaut," Alan said deprecatingly. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

A.J. sat up straight and gave Alan a perplexed look. "Uh, actually... no. I wanted to know if you were any relation to John G. Tracy. He's my favorite astronomy author."

Alan's jaw dropped. Jason and Ralph exchanged amused glances and Qaeshon smacked Alan's upper arm, grinning. Suddenly, Alan began to chuckle and laugh, and the other three joined in. A.J. glanced from one boy to the other, consternation on his features. "Wha.. what did I say?"

The laughter wound down and grinning, Alan said, "I like you, A.J. You sure know how to cut a guy down to size."

"Yeah, and if there's anyone whose ego needs trimming, it's Pinky's!" Qaeshon quipped. Alan feigned outrage, and smacked his friend lightly on the head.

"Oookay," A.J. said cautiously. "But you haven't answered my question. Are you related to John Tracy?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah, A.J., I am. John's the second eldest in our family. Sorry about laughing, but most people know me as the son of Jefferson Tracy instead of the brother of John."

"Well, there were a few seniors last year who knew you as brother of Gordon," Ralph reminded him.

"True," Alan agreed. "What made you ask about John, A.J.?"

"Well," A.J. said, gauging his words carefully. "You do sort of look like him."

"I'd better!" Alan quipped. "Dad would be a little concerned if I didn't." He took a bite of sandwich and a large gulp of water. When he was done chewing, he observed, "You look like you don't believe me, A.J." Putting down his glass, he fumbled around in his backpack, and pulled out his wallet, extracting a picture from it. "Here. I think you'll recognize John in the picture. It was taken back in July."

A.J. took the picture and examined it carefully. It was a group picture of Alan, Fermat, five other older men, one obviously old enough to be Alan's father, and a pretty Asian girl. They were all wearing swimsuits, and all but the oldest looked as if they had been swimming. He nodded as he picked out the bleached blond hair and facial features of his favorite author. "Nice family. Is that girl your sister?"

"Who? Tin-Tin? Nah, she's just a friend," Alan said, waving a dismissive hand. He reached for the picture, but Ralph snatched it first and whistled as he saw Tin-Tin.

"Just a friend, huh? She's hot, Pinky!" Ralph handed the picture to Jason, who responded with a low whistle of his own.

Jason avoided Alan's grasping hand and sent the snapshot to Qaeshon, who grinned. "Oh, yeah! She is _nice_, Pinky! What's she doing with a loser like you?" he quipped. Alan rolled his eyes and retrieved the photo, sliding it back into his wallet and stashing the leather pouch in his pack again.

"Hey, we'd better hurry up," Ralph said, glancing up at the clock. "Next period starts in fifteen."

"Right." Alan crammed a piece of sandwich in his mouth, and quickly chewed it as he saw Devdan Israni go by. "Ev!" he called, his speech obscured by the food. He finished chewing and swallowing and called out again, "Dev!"

Devdan started, and looked around, finally turning to see Alan frantically waving him over. "Yes, Mr. Tracy?" he asked as he approached. He scanned the table and frowned, asking, "Where is young Mr. Hackenbacker?"

"That's what I needed to tell you, Dev. He's in the infirmary. His medication's giving him trouble. Ms. Bell said she might release him late this afternoon, so I don't think he'll make the tryouts," Alan explained.

"Ah! I understand. I will tell Mr. Feng. We will work around it. Thank you for notifying me."

"No problem, Dev. Talk to you later!"

"Yes." Devdan nodded as he turned to go. "Have a good afternoon."

Alan took a last bite of sandwich and got up, grabbing his brownie for consumption on the way out and shouldering his backpack. The other boys followed his lead to the tray return and within a few moments, they had split up and gone their separate ways.

xxxx

"Tracy! Get warmed up!" Coach Evans called as Alan jogged toward him. The teen nodded and joined the small group that was stretching and doing the calisthenics that would get their blood moving and their muscles ready for the run. After ten minutes of warming up, the group joined the coach and Xavion Lewis, the team captain, at the midpoint of the track's oval.

"Now, the course is five kilometers long, which is standard for this level of competition," the coach explained. "It's been marked with flags and will take you around the outskirts of the campus. You must stay within two meters of the flags at all times. Red flags mean bear left, but must be passed on the right. Yellow flags mean bear right, but must be passed on the left. Blue flags mean go straight, and may be passed on either side. There will be spotters along the route to make sure you're following directions. When you come down off the course, there will be a roped off 'chute' to the finish line. You must stay within the ropes for your time to count. Remember, cross-country is a team sport and more than one of you will be chosen to represent Wharton. Now, men, to the starting line."

Alan joined the others at the starting line. The group of roughly ten boys ranged across the track, waiting for the starting signal. Alan glanced over to see that Xavion had an air horn out. Without warning, the horn went off, and the gaggle of boys was in motion.

Down half one side of the track's oval, then off into the grassy area surrounding the field they ran. Blue flags beckoned ahead and the small group passed them on either side. Alan found himself in the fourth position. _Not a bad place to be, especially if the others tire. Just make sure you pace yourself, Tracy, like John taught you._

The terrain was different from what Alan was used to. Spongy, short cut grass gave way to leafy forest, and, for a stretch, to a familiar dirt path where Alan had done some motorbike racing last spring. He kept up his pace, not falling behind and not surging forward, passing each flag on the proper side as he came to it. They branched off the dirt path into a slightly swampy area where Alan's running shoes squelched beneath his feet, then to a pine wood, where his foot slipped at one point on the treacherous needles. He regained his footing right away, and soldiered on.

Alan was used to hot, humid conditions; the air on this course was cool and dry and felt odd in his lungs as he began to switch from aerobic to anaerobic breathing. He opened his mouth slightly to increase his oxygen intake, and ran right into a floating group of midges. "Bleh!" His tongue worked hard to get rid of the unwanted protein and his face screwed up in an expression of disgust. Still, he had encountered worse in the tropical climes where he, John, and occasionally Scott, had run, so he didn't falter.

As he passed the next set of blue flags, he stepped up his pace a bit, moving from fourth to third in the lineup. The path wound up a small hillock and he worked hard to keep his new position, pressing on like he did when his brothers raced him up to the transmitter mast. A memory flashed through his mind of following Tin-Tin up that incline in a race against time, but he knew not to dwell on it. All that mattered was this race, the here and now, and the flags that were directing him to the left again. He passed the flags on the right, and kept on running.

He could tell by the route they were taking that they would be back to the field very soon, and that once he got into the roped-off area, there would be no opportunity for passing. _Gotta do it now, if I'm going to do it at all, _he thought. Another set of flags indicated a straightaway, and he made his move. Putting on a burst of speed, he passed the second place runner and took his position. He cut back on his stride just a touch, running faster than before but still pacing himself. Looking ahead, he could see that there was a rather wide gap between himself and the leader. _Don't think I can pass him, but I can close up the gap. C'mon, Tracy, just push a little harder now. _

And he did, closing the gap to just a few yards as they came down a small hill and in sight of the track once more. The leader put on a burst of speed all his own, widening the gap again, and Alan, determined to come in on his heels, did the same. Still, the leader's pace was such that he couldn't be caught, and as they entered the chute, Alan found himself crossing the finish line in second place. He was breathing heavily, trying to satisfy his oxygen-starved lungs and he walked around, trying to lower his heart rate while staving off any leg cramps that might develop. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to find the first place runner, a boy he knew as Erik, holding out his hand. Alan grinned and took it, shaking it firmly. "Nice race," Erik breathed.

"You, too," Alan panted. Together they walked over to where a large orange cooler stood, and poured themselves water from its spigot. Alan gulped down two cups full before crumpling up the paper container and tossing it into the nearby trash can.

He looked over at the coach, who was gathering the boys together in the center of the field. When all of them had circled around him, he said, "You did really well today, men. No one fell and no one dropped out. That's the attitude I like to see: perseverance. While you were out running, those who were interested in the hurdles had their tryouts and they had the same attitude. Keep going; don't give up. Now I can make the selections for the team. I'll be honest; with the talent I've seen this week, it'll be hard to do. But as I said before, if you don't make the cut, don't take it personally. Find another of our extracurricular clubs that could use your skills and never-say-die attitude." He paused. "I'll have the final team roster posted on the sports bulletin board in the Student Union and on the school's sports webpage by tomorrow noon. Okay, men. You're dismissed."

Alan jogged over to where his jacket sat, and picked it up. Xavion Lewis stopped pulling up the stakes that had created the chute and came over to him to ruffle his hair. "You did good out there, Tracy."

"Thanks, Zave," Alan replied. "My brother and I did some cross country this summer. He ran for Harvard when he was in college."

"Cool. I bet he'll be proud of you." Xavion sighed. "Wish Kay would take an interest in a sport. But that's just not his bag, and I respect it. Especially after the other night."

"Yeah. He's got a lot of musical talent. Kinda like my brother," Alan said. "See you 'round, Zave."

He jogged off without looking back, not realizing that Xavion was staring after him with a puzzled frown. Then the older boy shrugged his shoulders, and went back to his task.

_

* * *

Will Fermat get over this medication thing? Will Alan's name be on the roster? Will Jeff ever call back? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**darkhelmetj: **Thanks for the good words on Fermat and A.J. I didn't think it was right for the two of them to be at odds much longer. After all, Fermat comes across as an amiable kind of guy, and he of all people would understand where A.J. was coming from. I'm glad you liked the rescue! And thanks for the compliments on the differences in the dialogue. I'm hearing and seeing them in my head and that's what I'm trying to bring out for the readers to hear and see.  
**Math Girl: **Thanks for the good words on the rescue. I think A.J. will find that he not only has a friend in Fermat, but in the other boys as well. He just has to get to know them. And I'm sorry I didn't give the results of the track team tryouts, but the conversations at the table just took on a life of its own.  
**Lorency: **Oh yeah, they'll do fine. It's the trip to "doing fine" that's so interesting! Hope you like this chapter.


	8. Understandings

_Author's note: _A short one, folks. Fermat wakes up, and Jeff finally calls. I apologize for having taken so long to update, dear readers, but I said in the beginning that _Masquerade_ would come first, and for the past two and a half weeks, it has. Now I've finished writing _Masquerade _and I can turn my attention to this for a bit before starting the sequel to the other. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Fermat woke up much later feeling a lot less groggy, but as he squinted and gazed around he felt apprehensive._ Where am I? _he wondered. _I don't recognize... _

His attention was caught by a sudden motion to his right and a familiar voice called out, "Well, good afternoon, sleepy head. How are you feeling?"

"I f-feel much b-b-better, Ms. B-Bell." He relaxed as a fuzzy dark form came up to him, opened a drawer (he could hear it), and handed him a familiar object. He went to put his glasses on, but she put out a hand and stopped him.

"Hold up. I want to check your eyes." She took out something from a pocket and without warning there was a bright light shining in his eye, causing him to squint. The light flicked once, twice, three times in the right one, then repeated in the left. "Okay. You can put your glasses on now."

He followed her instructions and the world came into focus again. "How's the arm?" she asked, moving his arm up and down at the shoulder.

A twinge from within the cast made him hiss, and she stopped. "Hurts a little or a lot?"

"A little," he admitted.

"All right," Ms. Bell said with a smile. "I'm going to put you on naproxen. It should last twelve hours but shouldn't make you drowsy. But, since it's a twelve hour medicine, I want you to take it at meals, just for consistency's sake. Right now, I'll give you a dose of aceteminophen to hold you over until dinner. Then I want you to come by and see whoever's on duty before dinner for the new medicine. And in the morning before breakfast, just as you have been, okay?"

"O-Okay," Fermat agreed. He glanced at his watch. "Hey! I might b-be able t-to make my t-t-t... my test!"

"And what test would this be?" the nurse practitioner asked, bringing over a small paper cup with two round pills inside it and a larger paper cup full of water.

"T-Tryouts for the academic qu-quiz t-team," he said eagerly.

She dumped the contents of the smaller cup into his palm and as he popped the medicine in his mouth, handed him the water. "Well, that would explain why Devdan Israni was by here about a half hour ago, asking after you."

"He was?" He swallowed the water, feeling the pills go down.

"Yes. I told him not to expect you. But it seems you might be able to catch him after all."

Hopping down awkwardly from the bed, he asked, "C-Can I go now?"

"Let me fill out the paperwork to discharge you. I'll need the names of your teachers so I can email excuses to them. And remember, it's your responsibility to make up the work you've missed today."

"Y-Yes, ma'am," he replied.

Fifteen minutes later, Fermat was on his way, hurrying to get to the room where the testing was to take place. He was huffing by the time he reached the second floor of the Student Union, where the yearbook and various other clubs had offices and workrooms, the heavy load of his books and his computer slowing him down. He hurried down the hall, looking for room 212. "Two-oh-eight, t-two-t-ten, here it i-is!"

He peered through the narrow window in the door, hoping to catch the eye of Mr. Feng, who was leaning up against a desk with a timer in his hand, watching a small group of boys take a written test. Suddenly, the teacher glanced his way, and motioned to someone else in the room, pointing in the direction of the door. A couple of the boys glanced up as Devdan came to the door and opened it. "Hello, Mr. Hackenbacker. We were not expecting you," he said quietly.

"M-Ms. B-Bell released m-me," Fermat replied breathlessly. "A-Am I t-t-t... am I late?"

"Late, yes," Devdan said, smiling. "But too late? No. Come in."

"Thanks!" Fermat said with a grin.

xxxx

Alan stepped out of the shower, enjoying how he felt. The hot water had relaxed him and he felt loose, happy, at ease in his own skin, as he dried himself with a thick towel. The little doubts about making the track team had been washed away with his sweat. _I did my best today and I'm sure my name will be on the roster, _he thought. _I'm sure of it!_

He stepped out into his room just in time to hear his satellite phone ring. _Dad! _he thought happily. He wrapped the towel around his waist and picked up the phone, scrounging around to find his earpiece and microphone so he could see his father, and his father could see more of him than just his earlobe. Then he propped the phone up on the top of the drawers in his wardrobe and answered the call.

Just as he surmised, his dad was smiling back at him. "Hey, Alan! How's it going?"

"Great, Dad, just great!" Alan said as he pulled out a pair of boxers from his drawer and put them on, keeping an eye on his father. After all, at this angle, the camera could only see his face and possibly his shoulders.

"Did I catch you at a bad time, son?" Jeff asked, a little wrinkle of concern on his face. Alan's head kept bobbing up and down, almost sickeningly so, and when it did stay still for a second or two, he could see that his son's corn-colored hair was wet and sticking up in spikes.

"Nah, it's cool, Dad. Just got out of the shower after my tryouts," Alan said off-handedly, trying to make it look like he had tryouts every day of the week.

"Tryouts? For what, son?" Jeff sat back suddenly as a large red blob seemed to swallow Alan whole then spit out only his son's head, the damp spikes now plastered down in spots.

"Hang on a sec, Dad," Alan replied as the phone, borne down by his shirt as it covered the cord attached to his earphone/boom mike combination, fell from the dresser. He caught it nimbly, unplugged the cord, and pulled it back up through his shirt to plug back in again. Setting it back on the drawers, he said, "There, that's better."

Jeff, who for the past few moments had been subjected to a dizzying, jerky picture dominated by red, propped his head up in one hand, elbow on the arm of his chair, thumb placed below his cheekbone, his first two fingers resting just above his eyebrow, and the other two fingers curled to allow him to see. In that position, he shook his head slowly. "Alan, you could have told me you were getting dressed. I would have waited."

"Nah, Dad, it's cool! I'm almost done." Alan's head kept bobbing up and down as he slipped into a pair of clean jeans. A little hop to settle the pants around his hips, and he fastened his pants. "There!" He picked up the phone, dug a pair of socks out of his top drawer and took both to his desk.

Jeff chuckled. Now his son's picture was stable, but the background was not, or at least that's what he saw until Alan set the phone on his desk and bobbed down to put on his socks. "Alan, you haven't answered my question. Tryouts for what?"

"Oh, yeah!" Socks donned, Alan sat back in his chair. "Track team. I'm going out for track."

This brought a smile of genuine surprise and pleasure to Jeff's face. "Track team? Good for you, Alan! What events are you thinking about?"

"Well, high jump is one of them, and long jump, too. Today was the cross-country trial. I came in second!" Alan said, beaming.

"Very good, Alan!" Jeff knew from experience with John that cross-country was a multi-player event and that coming in second during tryouts didn't necessarily mean failure. "When do you find out if you made the cut?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Alan said, rubbing his hands together. "I can hardly wait!"

"Do you want me to pass the word along to John? I know he'd be interested."

"Yeah, if you would. That'd be great!"

Always one to cut to the chase, Jeff asked, "How are your classes going?"

"So far, so good, Dad," Alan replied. "Fermat's helping me with the math and I think I'm getting the concepts we're studying. But I'm taking strength training and so far it's a bore. We've been studying the muscle groups and the various pieces of equipment. It's like a beginner's course. I'm afraid I'm going to lose all the muscle tone I gained over the summer if things keep going like they are."

"Well, knowing the basics isn't going to hurt," Jeff reminded him. "Why don't you let your teacher know that you've done some weight training over the summer. Maybe he can give you permission to get into the weight room early in the morning or something."

"That's a good idea, Dad, thanks," the teen said thoughtfully.

"Are you getting along with your new roommate?"

Alan nodded his head eagerly. "My roommate is Lee Sugimoto, the biggest athlete and most popular guy at school! He was the one who suggested I go out for track. He's got an away soccer game right now or I'd introduce you. We're getting along just fine."

"So you're not missing Fermat?" Jeff asked, a little wry smile on his face.

The boy looked thoughtful again. "Well, yes and no. I mean, Fermat's roommate was a pain in the ass at first and Fermat wouldn't have gotten hurt if we had been together. And then there was last night. We could have kept up with events if we were roommates. But I don't think I would have gone out for track if Sugi wasn't here; you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I think I do," Jeff replied, nodding. "You said Fermat's roommate was a pain at first. What changed your mind?"

"Fermat did. They came to some kind of agreement; sort of started over. Now A.J.'s part of the gang. He's still got a way to go to fit in, but he's trying and so are we. Oh, hey! Tell John he has a fan! A.J. loves John's books. In fact, he asked me this morning if I was John's brother! That was a switch!"

"Who do people ask you about otherwise?" Jeff asked, pretty sure that he knew the answer.

Alan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Daaaad! The multi-billionaire and astronaut hero, Jeff Tracy, of course." He bounced his head around as he said it, as if he had heard it so much he was reciting by rote, ending the line by leaning in and giving his father a mock glare.

"Oh! I didn't know it was so tough being my son," Jeff retorted with a half-smile and a facetious tone.

"It can be, Dad," Alan replied, suddenly sobering. "It can be when people want to be your friend because of who your father is instead of who you are inside. And when people look at you and compare you to your father and you..." He sighed. "You don't come up to their expectations."

Jeff nodded in sympathy. "Believe it or not, Alan, I do understand. All your brothers went through the same thing, some more than others." He paused. "I can't help being who and what I am, son. I'm afraid you're stuck with me. But you? You can be someone unique all on your own. Problem is, first you have to figure out what that is. You don't have to live in my shadow, Alan, not unless you want to."

"Yeah, I know," Alan responded, shrugging. "You're right about one thing; I've got to figure out who I want to be on my own." He drew in a deep breath. "Y'know, I never thought about it like this before, that maybe being away gives me the space to figure it out." He looked down and was silent for a moment, and when he glanced up again, Jeff could see he was trying hard to control his emotions. The boy shrugged one shoulder, attempting to look nonchalant. "But... I guess I miss you guys."

His father smiled. "You sure it's us you miss and not the 'Birds?"

Alan snorted a laugh. "Well, maybe I miss both." He paused for a moment, gazing at his dad, trying to gauge what kind of answer he would get to his next question. "Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, Alan?"

"If I make the track team, will you... will you come to a meet?"

Jeff sat back at the question, and slowly nodded. "If you make the team, send me the schedule, and I'll see what I can do. You know what life is like here; we never know from one moment to the next what's going to happen. Still, I will try, that much I can promise."

He was pleased to see his son smile widely. "Great! That would be fantastic!" Suddenly Alan looked away. "Someone's at the door, Dad. It might be Sugi. Can you wait a minute?"

"Sure, son. I can wait."

"Come in!" Alan shouted, forgetting about the boom mike he was using. Jeff winced at the shout, taking his earphone out and putting his pinky into his ear just a bit to wiggle it around.

The door opened, and Fermat all but burst into the room. "A-Alan!" he cried. "I m-m-m-m..."

"Slow down, Fermat!" Alan said. "Hey, Dad, it's Fermat."

Jeff waved and said, "Hello, Fermat," and Alan relayed the message, "Dad says, 'Hello'. What's got you so hot and bothered?"

"N-Nothing! It's j-j-j... I made the team!" He turned to the picture of the man in the office chair. "I made the team, M-Mr. T-Tracy!"

"Dad, he said..."

"I heard him, son. Tell him congratulations for me!"

"Dad says, 'Congratulations!'," Alan relayed again.

Fermat made motions with his free hand as if to leave. "I-I'm gonna h-h-h... rush back to my r-r-r... quarters to t-t-t... inform my d-d-d-DAD! Wanted you to b-be the f-f-first to know!"

Alan laughed. "Hey, thanks, Fermat! Do you want me to come with you and help carry your stuff?"

"W-Would you? I'd a-a-a... be thankful!" Fermat replied.

"Okay." Alan turned to his father. "Dad? I'm going to help Fermat get his stuff back to his dorm. Talk to you later?"

"Sure, Alan. The tag's on you, now," Jeff said with a grin.

"Roger that! I'll call tomorrow to tell you the news about the team, good or bad. Promise."

"Okay, son. Looking forward to it. Have a good evening."

"Have a good day, Dad. Bye!"

The call ended. Alan sat back with a satisfied sigh, and began to put his phone away. He pointed to the closet. "Get my sneakers, please?"

"Have a g-g-good conversation with y-your d-dad?" Fermat asked, his head in the closet, looking for Alan's everyday athletic shoes. He found one and tossed it without looking to Alan, who fielded it handily, and did the same to the other, smacking his friend in the knee with it as Alan's hands were busy putting on the first.

Alan got up to fetch the other shoe, which had bounced off his knee and landed some distance away. "Yeah. He said that if I make the track team, he'll try to come to a meet!" He returned to his desk chair to put it on his foot.

"C-Cool!" Fermat kicked the dirty track shoes back into the wardrobe and closed the doors.

Now shod, Alan got up from his desk and grabbed Fermat's bookbag. "Come on. Let's get you back to Maplewood so you can tell_ your _dad _your _good news!"

"Yeah!" Fermat said, shouldering his laptop. "A-And you can t-t-tell me about the c-cross-country r-race."

Alan turned out the lights on his way out, and as they entered the elevator, was heard to say, "When did you get out of the infirmary anyway?"

_

* * *

Will Alan make the team? Will the boys' rooms pass inspection? Will A.J. get his laundry done? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**fellowriverrat: **Thanks for the good words on the cross-country race and on the painkillers. I do try to make things realistic. I'm kind of taking ashine to this Alan myself. And believe me, sometimes I feel like I'm not doing the writing, but rather I'm channeling the characters. Scaaaary!  
**Math Girl: **No, I don't think A.J. recognized the boys, though even from across the Thames, those Thunderbirds would be hard to miss.  
**numbuh 14: **Thanks for the good words on the plot so far and the detailed characterization. As for Jeff calling back, well, you've just read it  
**Labrat-Speedy:** Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you like it.  
**darkhelmetj: **Yes, it's shocking to be recognized, not as the son of a world-famous father, but as the brother of a probably lesser-known author. And, yes, there had to be teasing over Tin-Tin. There will be more to come on that front. As to what Xavion was puzzled about; that will be made clear in later chapters.  
**Ellie ET: **I'm glad you're enjoying this. And I'm glad that you like A.J. now, too.  
**Blue-eyes-magic:** I'm sorry this took so long to update, but my Masquerade muse was just pushing me along (or I was pushing her; we haven't figured that one out yet). Now she's getting a bit of a rest so I can focus on this.  
**LoLLy: **Thanks for the compliments! Yes, there are original characters; they don't exactly go to school in a vacuum. And Alan can't be angry all the time. Even though they're separated, they're still close friends, and Alan now has to deal with his family on his own. I think both boys will do some growing up during the story.  
**Mae:** How long does it take to update? Well, it was usually once or twice a week but that was before the big push on my other story. I hope this suffices.


	9. Undercurrents

_Author's note: _Fermat calls home, A.J. gets a lesson, another bit of mystery comes to light, and the rosters go up. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to fellowriverrat for being a sounding board. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan hung around after carrying Fermat's stuff back to the dorm and said hello to Brains when his friend called home with the good news about the academic team. 

"Y-Your father told me about the t-t-t... field tryouts, A-Alan," Brains said. "I-I hope you m-m-m... I hope you are on the t-t-team."

"Me too, Brains," Alan replied with a smile.

A.J. walked in during the call, and Fermat dragged him over to introduce him to his father.

"Hello, Mr. Hackenbacker," the younger boy said politely. "It's nice to meet you."

"N-Nice to m-m-m... make your a-acquaintance, too, A.J.," Brains replied, using the nickname that Fermat and the others had already given to him. "I h-hear you and F-F-F... my son had a r-rocky start. I'm g-g-g... happy that you're now g-g-g... that you've started o-over. I think you m-may have m-m-more in common than y-you think."

"Thank you, Mr. Hackenbacker," the boy replied. "I've never had a roommate before and I've got a lot to learn it seems."

"Y-You'll do f-f-fine," Brains assured him.

Alan helped himself to a soda from Fermat's stash and drank it while his friend and Brains said their goodbyes. Last year it had been hard to watch the easy relationship that his Fermat and Brains had with each other. But not any more. Events during spring break and over the summer had helped him get closer to his own dad, and repair some of the bridges between them that had been torn down by their constant sparring. He had also been able to get closer to his brothers, especially John, whom he usually barely saw because of the need for a human presence in Thunderbird Five. Having him home for the entire summer while the others spent the time repairing and rebuilding the station was great as far as Alan was concerned.

The repairs had been scheduled in two week stints, with the repair crew spending a week on Earth together, then going up for another two weeks. John had gone up during the final two week stint during the summer, but with orders that he was only to work on the computers. He had been badly burnt in the attack and it took most of the summer for things to heal to a point where he could go back on duty.

"B-Bye, Dad," Fermat said. "L-Love you!"

Brains responded in kind and Fermat ended the call. Alan sighed. He and his dad didn't often say they loved each other but since the Hood's attack on the island, they embraced more, showing how much they cared that way. He glanced over at A.J. who was lying on his bed, his hands behind his head. _Wonder how A.J. gets along with his dad? He said his father took him to London and they went to the Eye. That must have been fun._

"H-Hey, A.J.," Fermat said with an upbeat tone. "We sh-should clean the r-room tonight so we have a-all day t-tomorrow to g-g-g... have fun. You with m-me?"

"I suppose," A.J. said, not budging from his place or even looking at his roommate. "But I don't know what to do."

"I'll teach you," Alan said firmly. "But don't think I'm going to do it _for_ you. C'mon. I'll show you where to find the cleaning supplies."

A.J. sighed heavily and got up, following Alan out, with Fermat taking up the rear. Fermat motioned for A.J. to put his hand up to the lock on the closet where the cleaning materials were kept. "Th-The closet's lock is p-programmed with only the h-h-handprints of those who l-live in the dorm," he explained. "A-And it logs when w-we open the closet. That helps k-keep t-track of the s-s-supplies and who h-h-has them."

Alan pulled out the chemicals and paper towels, handing them to the youngest boy. Fermat maneuvered a vacuum cleaner out with his good hand and dragged it along after him. While Alan showed A.J. the finer points of bathroom cleaning, Fermat vacuumed and disposed of the trash. They were required to change their sheets for Saturday inspections, and since Alan was a pro at stripping and remaking top bunks, he helped both boys, giving A.J. instruction as he did.

"I never knew I'd be learning how to keep house while at school," A. J. griped.

"Hey, it's called 'fulfilling potential'," Alan quipped, remembering parts of the brochure he had read at the beginning of the year. "Something Wharton's supposed to be good at."

"H-Here I thought it w-was 'b-building character'," Fermat riposted with a grin. "I remember l-last year's b-b-b... flyer said that."

A.J. listened to the easy banter, his head turning back and forth as the two continued to joke around. _This is so... interesting. I've never had friends who I could do this with. _He cleared his throat. "Are you sure it's not... uh... 'mastering esoteric skills'?" The other two boys stopped and stared at him for a long moment, their mouths open, then glanced at each other quickly and burst into peals of laughter.

"Was it that funny?" he asked, confused.

Alan wiped an eye. "Yeah, it was. What does 'esoteric' mean?"

A.J. blinked. "Uh... I don't know, really. I found it in one of the brochures my dad was reading when he was trying to decide where to send me this year."

The older boy pointed at Fermat. "Brain? 'Ey, Brain?" he asked in a faux Cockney accent that he'd learned from imitating Parker. "Wot does eso... asso... eh-sot-tear-hic mean?"

Fermat brought his voice down as low as he could. "P-Pinky! Don't d-disturb me while I'm t-trying to... t-take over the world!"

They laughed again, and A.J., who had gone to look it up on his computer's dictionary, said, "Of or related to that which is known by a restricted number of people; see mysterious." He shook his head. "I still don't get it."

"Don't try, A.J.," Alan counseled. "Just take my word for it, it was funny!"

"So, what's left to do?" A.J. asked, looking around. He really didn't see much difference to the room but he did admit to himself that it would be nice to sleep on clean sheets.

"The w-windows, from the i-inside only," Fermat explained. "B-But we have w-w-w... we have to do it in the d-d-day."

"Yeah. I'd better get back to my own dorm and clean my bathroom. Sugi and I haven't had much chance to discuss the cleaning schedule, but I think he'd want me to have the scut job anyway," Alan said with a wry smile.

"We'll p-put away th-the stuff. Wh-When my a-arm heals up," Fermat said to his roommate, "w-we can sh-share doing the b-b-b... restroom. But until I g-get this," he held up his cast, "off, I j-just can't d-do it."

"I guess I can see why," A.J. admitted.

Alan shot his empty soda can into the freshly emptied trash bin. "He shoots, he scores!" Turning to the two younger boys he said, "Gotta go. See you tomorrow, guys. I may not be at breakfast but I'll be at the game room later. The final track roster goes up tomorrow after noon."

"See you l-later, g-gator," Fermat said as he walked his friend to the door.

"Later!" Alan called as he left.

Fermat returned to his room and noticed his roommate was making a phone call. He quietly retrieved a soda from the fridge and brought his computer to life.

"Hello, Chivers? Yes, it's me. Is my father available?" A.J. waited for a moment. Fermat studiously kept his eyes on his computer screen, trying to read the email from Tin-Tin.

"Geneva? Hmm. Too late to call him there," A.J. said, glancing at his watch. "No, no emergency. But if he checks in, please tell him... tell him I called? Thank you. Goodbye."

A.J. folded up his phone with a sad, thoughtful look and put it back in its charger. He sighed once more, rummaged around in the fridge for a bottle of juice, and pulled out a book to read.

Fermat felt he had to say something, anything. "Y-You okay?"

"Yes, I am. My dad's in Geneva. I'll call him in the morning."

The older boy nodded, and turned back to Tin-Tin's missive. _Boy, do I have a lot to tell her!_

xxxx

"What's going on there?" Alan muttered to himself, as he walked back to Chetwood. Blue lights were flashing behind Oakwood dorm. Curious, he cut across the grass to join the small crowd that had gathered on the walk behind the building. Two New Ashford police cars were parked along the sidewalk, along with one of the security team's cars. Lights were flashing, and a small crowd had gathered in the grassy area around the back walk. All eyes turned as an ambulance slowly moved up to join them. Two paramedics jumped out, opened the back of their transport and quickly wheeled a gurney with a large fishing tackle style box sitting atop it down to the far corner of the building.

Alan spied Jason in the crowd and threaded his way through to stand next to him. "What's up?" he asked.

"Someone got beat up," Jason explained. "I think it was the yearbook editor, Dominic Bertoli. Somebody found him in the bushes behind Oakwood. He's not badly hurt, but the attack aggravated his asthma... here he comes now."

The paramedics came back, a dark haired boy strapped to the gurney, an oxygen mask over his face. They were followed by Mr. Magnuson. The professionals loaded him into the ambulance, the security chief climbing in after them, then one of them got in the front, and the transport pulled away, lights still flashing, the siren blaring once as it headed back down the access road.

"Okay, boys!" Mr. Culp, one of the regular, uniformed security officers, called out. "You've seen what there is to see. Time to move along!"

Alan glanced at Jason. "Let's go." The two friends returned to the sidewalk in front of Oakwood and walked toward Birchwood. "This is the second attack on a student," Alan said seriously. "Maybe now the police will take things more seriously."

"I hope so," Jason commented. "I'd hate for my folks to pull me out. This was going to be a good year."

xxxx

Saturday breakfast was normally sparsely attended, mostly because the boys were either sleeping in or frantically cleaning in preparation for the weekly inspections. But Fermat was up and about. He left A.J. sleeping in their room, and stopped at the infirmary for his medicine before hustling on to the dining hall. He actually liked getting up early on Saturday; he usually was able to find a table with a different group of boys than those he sat with during the week, and got a different perspective on things that went on at the school. And since it was that particular meal, most of the students who were there tended to be a bit more open to newcomers as well.

Fermat got his food, and looked around to see if there was anyone he knew who could help him with it. He didn't see anyone at first, and so tried to balance his tray between his abdomen and free hand. He found it difficult to walk with it, and was very glad when a familiar voice said, "Having trouble, Brain? Hold on. Let me put my own tray down."

"Thanks, Kay," Fermat said gratefully. He watched as Qaeshon took a tray over to a table that included his brother, Xavion, then came back to him and took his. He followed his friend over to the table, and was greeted by Xavion and introduced to the others.

"I heard you were Alan Tracy's roommate last year, weren't you?" asked Erik Tolbert.

"Y-Yes, I was," Fermat replied.

Erik nodded. "He's a good runner. He and I were both trying out for cross-country yesterday."

"O-O-Oh! You're _th-that _Erik!" the younger boy said. "Alan t-told me about y-you. Nice t-to meet y-you."

"So, did you hear about Dominic Bertoli?" Qaeshon asked, cutting up his sausage. "He was attacked last night."

"No! I h-hadn't heard!" Fermat exclaimed. "W-What happened?"

"Seems someone decided he was an easy target, kinda like Kay the other night," Xavion cut in, his voice dark and angry. "He wasn't hurt much, but the whole thing made his asthma flare up bad. They took him to the hospital."

"I hear that the administration is considering it an isolated incident of bullying," said another student. "The police aren't taking it very seriously."

"They should," Xavion retorted. "The more this happens the more it's gonna happen, if you get my drift."

There were general murmurs of assent from the others at the table, then the topic shifted to the previous evening's soccer game, which Wharton had won in overtime.

Fermat and Qaeshon exchanged glances, and the dark boy said, "You think these creeps have something against yearbook people? I mean, I'm on the staff and Dom's the editor."

Fermat chewed it over in his head for a bit. "I-I don't know, K-Kay. You said th-they told you that y-you should be going out f-for sports, right?"

"Yeah, they did. But what has that got to do with anything?"

"D-Dominic has always i-i-i... seemed to m-me to be a s-s-sports oriented kinda g-guy," the younger boy explained. "I-I was s-s-s... taken a-a-aback that he didn't g-go out for s-sports, but n-now I know wh-why. His a-asthma must be pretty b-bad to k-k-keep him from p-playing."

"From what I understand, it is. He's on a couple of different medications for it as well as an inhaler that he uses a lot. You may be onto something there, Brain. I hope this doesn't happen again, but if it does, we'll have to see if one or the other of the patterns fit," Kay said. He snorted a laugh. "We both sound like we're in some detective thriller."

Fermat chuckled, too. "Y-You're right, we do. Hackenbacker and L-Lewis, p-private eyes."

They laughed again, drawing glances from the other boys at the table.

xxxx

The games room in the Student Union was usually crowded on a Saturday and this one was no exception. Freshmen who were learning their way around stopped by for a quick game of foosball or air hockey, a few of the chess team members were playing a game or two, watched intently by their peers, and by Mr. Feng, who was monitor at that point during the day. The pinball and vid games were making their usual racket and the ping pong and pool tables were seeing heavy use. The four VR stations had short lines of players waiting their turns The games were on a twenty-minute timer so wherever you got in the game at that point, that's where you stopped. The game was saved automatically so players could pick up where they left off. It took a lot of memory to keep track of all of it, but Wharton had the best in computer servers. They had to; computers were such a staple of life in the 2020s and parents expected the school to have the top of the line, especially considering what they paid for their sons to go there.

Alan was playing foosball with Jason, one of his fiercest competitors in the game. He was also keeping half an eye on the time, which was blowing his concentration. Jason noticed this and was taking full advantage of the situation. He had his offensive line pass the ball down and with a spinning "kick" pushed the ball savagely past Alan's defense and into his goal for the winning point.

"Awww!" Alan cried, putting both hands over his face, throwing his head back, and stomping a foot.

"Drama queen," Jason jeered.

Alan grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, but you love me anyway." He made kissy lips and noises in Jason's general direction.

"Get out!" Jason called, half annoyed, half facetiously, waving a hand as if to push Alan away. As the loser moved away, laughing, the redhead called out, "Okay, who's next?"

Fermat walked in, A.J. at his heels. The younger boy was looking all around him, his mouth slightly open. Fermat noticed and asked, "Was there a-anything like this wh-where you went to school b-b-b... last year?"

"Well, yeah, but it wasn't this... noisy. Or big. And there weren't so many people..." A.J. replied. "The games room was reserved for groups of students according to the letter of the alphabet, and on Saturdays two hours per group was assigned. You got to see the same kids in there all the time. My day was always Thursday, and four to six p.m. on Saturdays."

"Th-Things are different h-here," the older boy explained. "The g-games room is open every d-day from three to f-five, every n-night from seven to n-nine, and from nine to n-nine on S-Saturdays. On Sunday, it's open from o-one to f-five. Hours are p-p-p... listed on the d-door. The pool is almost the s-same, except it's r-r-r... saved for the swim t-team from three to f-five, and there's a m-meet every other F-Friday night. To m-make up for it, there are e-e-e... more hours after d-dinner on Sunday."

"What else is there to do around here?" A.J. asked.

"There are u-u-u... almost always pick-up b-basketball games in the g-gym or at the o-outside hoops, and the t-tennis c-c-courts have hours p-posted."

"Golf? Is there any golf?"

Fermat stopped to think. "I'm n-not sure. You should ch-check the b-b-b... boards over there." He pointed in the direction of a series of large bulletin boards, covering nearly a whole wall. "Hey, here comes Xavion!"

The tall figure of Xavion Lewis strode into the room, folder in hand, weaving his way through the crowd, picking up a following as he did so. Alan saw him come in and hurried over to the bulletin board. "Looks like the t-t-track team roster is g-going up." Fermat commented.

Xavion put up five pieces of paper, standing in front of the sheets and shielding them with his body. The crowd pushed in behind him; at one point he turned and barked, "Back off. I need room!" The boys all took a step back, a few of the older ones putting out their arms to help push back the crowd. Finally, he was through pinning up the lists, and he nimbly got out of the way as the boys surged forward.

The lists were for basketball, swimming, wrestling, track, and a final roster for soccer. Alan kept bobbing up and down, trying to see above the heads, trying to spot his own name. At last he managed to make his way to the front. He found the proper list and his eyes scanned down it. He frowned and looked again, taking more going over it. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

Fermat, who had managed to squeeze past some of the boys still checking the rosters, poked Alan in the ribs. Alan turned to him, his face still a study in surprise. "W-Well?" his friend asked.

_

* * *

I can hear the screams from here! LOL! Did Alan make the team? Will A.J.'s dad call back? Who's behind these attacks? Will Alan ever beat Jason at foosball again? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**numbuh 14: **I really liked writing Jeff's POV for that "getting dressed" section. Sounded like something Alan would do. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.  
**janet: **That's what I strive for: realism. I know Thunderbirds is sci-fi/fantasy, but this part, with Alan and Fermat at school, needs to sound real. The Thunderbirds will make more appearances; promise.  
**mae: **No offense taken and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Sometimes I needed to be reminded that I had readers waiting for my return to this story.  
**Ellie ET: **Glad you're enjoying it, Ellie.  
**Sancontoa:** Thank you for your kind words, especially about the realism. I should be updating with more regularity now.  
**LoLLy: **I'm glad you're enjoying the story. It is nice to have something happy to read out there, isn't it? And thanks for the compliments on my writing skills! I really appreciate them.


	10. Undulations

_Author's note: _Finally, the answer to the question on everyone's mind: did Alan make the team! Chatter over snacks, Alan and A.J. establish an understanding, Alan gets an unpleasant surprise, and a father/son talk. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Well?" Fermat asked again, concerned at his friend's expression. 

Alan broke into a big grin. "Four!" he cried. "Four events!" Counting them off on his fingers, "High jump, long jump, cross-country and alternate on javelin! I wasn't expecting javelin! Woo Hoo!"

"Woo Hoo!" Fermat echoed, slapping his friend on the shoulder, his grin as wide as Alan's. "C-Congratulations!"

"Yes! Congratulations, Alan!" A.J. exclaimed, his face brightening with a smile. "You did well!"

"Yeah, Pinky. You did well in tryouts," came an older voice. Xavion Lewis stood before Alan, his face serious. "Let's see how well you do in competition." He glared at his younger teammate for just a moment more, then his face relaxed into a smile, and he held out his hand. "Welcome to the team."

Alan took the hand and shook it. "Thanks, Zave. I'm gonna work my butt off, you'll see."

"I hope to. Practice starts after classes on Monday," Xavion replied. "Now, I have a few more guys to corral... and congratulate."

The trio watched as the senior walked off into the mostly excited crowd of boys. Then Alan turned to his companions. He punched the air with a jubilant, "Yes! Four!" He smacked Fermat lightly on the chest. "C'mon, you two! Milkshakes at the snack shop and I'm buying!"

"C-Cool!" Fermat said. "Let's g-go!"

xxxx

At the snack shop--one of the other amenities to be found in the Student Union building--Alan, Fermat and A.J. were joined by Jason and Ralph. "Congrats, Pinky!" Jason said with a grin. "You did it!"

"Yeah, but now the hard work begins," Ralph commented as he pulled up a seat, an ice cream cone in his hand. "If Zave is anything like Sugi..."

"He'll be busting our butts from here to Thanksgiving," Alan quipped. "I know, believe me. But if I can survive a summer with my brother Scott busting my butt in strength training, I can survive Zave. After all, Zave hasn't served in the military. Scott has."

"Hey, can I join you guys?" came a voice from behind Alan.

"Oh, hey! Erik! Sure, come on and join us!" Alan declared, motioning to a seat at the long table. "I saw you made the team, too. Congrats!"

"Yeah, cross-country and 1500 meters," Erik explained. "My two best events. You got four! Congratulations! The jumping is not my thing."

"I w-wonder what Xavion d-does on the t-team?" Fermat asked. "D-Do you know?"

"Relays and sprints," Erik replied. "And he was a wicked pole vaulter until he tore a ligament in his shoulder. I looked at last year's record books, 'cause I was curious. Hey, there was another kid named Tracy in the books from a couple of years ago, on the swim team. Any relation?"

Alan laughed. "Yeah, my older brother, Gordon. The way he swims, he's practically a fish."

"Now I think I understand," came the familiar older voice. "How many brothers have you got anyway, Pinky?" Xavion came around the corner and approached the group, a bag of chips in his hand. He sat down at the table without asking, and popped a chip in his mouth. As he crunched, he pointed a finger at Alan. "You told me your brother ran track for Harvard, then that he was musical. And now I hear about a swimmer? Can't be just one guy; he'd have to be Superman to do it all."

Alan took another slurp of his strawberry milkshake. "You mean Kay hasn't told you? I've got four older brothers, all of them overachievers in one area or another. Scott's the oldest and a military man; he and next-in-line brother John ran with me this summer. John's an astronomer, an author, and he's the one who ran cross-country for Harvard. Virgil's in the middle; he's the musical one and an artist, too. Gordon went here a few years ago and I'm surprised you didn't hear about him; he's the swimmer. Won a lot of meets for Wharton. Then..." Alan shrugged, "there's me. Baby of the family," he leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head with a self-satisfied smile, "and about to make a name for myself in track and field here."

"As long as that name isn't 'Mud'," Jason quipped. Those around the table laughed, Alan included, as he brought his chair down with a thud.

"Those are some names your brothers have," Zave commented, leaning his chair back on two feet. "Virgil and Gordon?"

Alan shrugged again. "We're all named after the Mercury astronauts. Dad thought it was cool." He took another long pull on his straw and everyone could hear the slurping sound that said he'd reached the bottom of the cup. "Hey, you and Kay can't talk."

Xavion chuckled. "Yeah, I guess we can't. Mom wanted us named after the weird letters of the alphabet. That's why my sisters are Yvette and Zoe."

The others chuckled at his explanation and talk at the table turned to more general topics. A.J. watched and listened as he slurped the last of his vanilla milkshake, wondering how he could add to the conversation and make his own mark with the group. Finally, Alan looked at his watch. "I need to call my dad. I promised I'd tell him about the tryout results."

"Oh!" A.J. said, reminded of his own father. "I should call my father, too. The time zones are favorable."

"You have that problem, too?" Alan asked, grinning as he got up.

"Well, at the moment, yes. My father's in Geneva right now."

"Well, we can walk back to the dorms together," Alan offered. "Fermat, you coming?"

The bespectacled boy shook his head. "N-No. I want t-to play some p-p-pinball."

"Okay, that's cool. See you later, Brain. Bye, guys." Alan raised a hand in farewell, and so did A.J.

The boys at the table said goodbye to them both by name, and A.J. felt good. _It's like... I **belong**._

xxxx

"So, your Dad's in Geneva?" Alan said, making small talk with A.J. in an effort to get to know him.

"Yes, that's where the world courts are," A.J. explained. "He's a lawyer specializing in international law." He looked up at the taller boy. "What does your father do?"

Alan laughed. "Well, he's walked on the moon, been a decorated hero, and right now, he makes money, lots of money." He glanced down at A.J. "Ever heard of Tracy Industries?"

A.J. frowned a bit, then his face cleared. "Ohhh! _That _Tracy Industries!" He looked Alan up and down. "Hmm. You're not dressed like the son of a billionaire."

"Oh? And how should a billionaire's son dress?" Alan asked facetiously.

The question took A.J. by surprise. "I don't know. I guess... the latest fashions and gear. All designer labels plastered on the clothes and shoes. Things that scream, 'Hey! Look at me! I have money!' You don't dress that way."

"Nah," Alan said. "My dad wasn't raised that way, and he didn't raise us that way. I mean, our clothes aren't rags, but Dad likes a good value for his dollar. Besides, if I dressed like you describe, I'd be worrying too much about my clothes, and who wants to worry about that?" He shrugged. "On top of that, the people around me wouldn't be interested in me, but in my dad's money. And I don't need toadies for friends."

That made A.J. look thoughtful. "Hmm. Interesting point-of-view." He put his hands in his pockets. They were nearly to Chetwood now and Alan would be going up to his dorm. "Hey, you always talk about your father. What about your mother? Doesn't she have a say in what you wear?"

Alan sighed, and looked straight ahead. A.J. couldn't help but notice the sad expression on his face. "My mom..." The older boy cleared his throat. "My mom died when I was little. In an avalanche. I don't remember her much."

"I'm sorry," A.J. said sincerely. "I didn't realize."

"I know. But ever since then it's been my dad, my brothers, and me." Alan swallowed, then changed the subject. "What about your mom? Fermat told me your parents were divorced."

Now it was A.J.'s turn to look straight ahead. "My mom might as well be dead for all the attention she gives me. She's always flying off to the latest hot spot, cuddling up to some man she expects me to call 'Uncle' when I visit; never the same man twice, it seems. I only see her at Christmas; she lives not far from my father and I have to see her then. Court order." He sighed. "The rest of the year; not much. Maybe a card and a gift at my birthday if I'm lucky. She never realizes how old I am or how much I've grown." They stopped in front of Chetwood. "Did your mom love you?"

Alan nodded slowly. "Yeah. She did."

"Then I'd say you had the better bargain," A.J. replied softly. "See you around, Alan."

He walked away, hands in his pockets and Alan watched him go. Then he turned and went inside, taking the steps to the dorm two at a time, a sudden, intense desire to talk to his dad welling up inside.

xxxx

Alan knocked on the door as Sugi had asked him to. There was the sound of something shuffling around inside. He shifted from one foot to another as he waited, mulling over in his mind what he wanted to say to his dad and not noticing that he was standing outside his own room for longer than was strictly necessary. Finally, it dawned on him that there was someone in his room but he'd had no answer, so he knocked again, a bit more forcefully this time.

"It's okay. Come in."

Alan frowned at the sound of Lee's voice, and put his hand up to the door's scanner. Before he could walk inside, Lee's friend, Trey Mackenzie, pushed past him with a muttered, "Hey, Tracy."

"Hey, Mackenzie," the younger boy said, his words trailing off at the end of the sentence. He turned to go into his room and was virtually yanked inside by Lee.

"Don't just stand there, Tracy. Get in here!" Lee growled.

Alan shook off his roommate's hand and stared around at the room. There was a curious haze in the air, and a smell that made his nose wrinkle. The room was cooler than Alan liked, mostly because Lee had the windows wide open.

"What the hell's going on?" he demanded of his roommate. "Who's been smoking in here?"

Lee glared at him. "Keep your voice down, Tracy." He ducked into the bathroom and pulled out a can of air freshener, spraying it around. "Mackenzie's been smoking in here. And before you say it's illegal, it's not! He's eighteen and can smoke if he likes."

"Maybe he can, but why is he smoking in _here_?" Alan asked angrily. "Why is he smoking in _our_ room?"

Having finished with the air freshener, Lee put it away and brought out some fabric deodorizer, spraying the fine mist all over his bedding, then shoved the bottle into Alan's hands. "He's smoking in here because he can't smoke in his own room," he began to explain. "His roommate is Dom Bertoli. The smoke would aggravate his asthma."

"Then why can't he go smoke outside somewhere? In his car, if he has one?" Alan was still hopping mad and was getting in Lee's face.

"If you're not going to use that, give it back," his roommate said, snatching the bottle from the younger boy again. He spritzed the draperies, pulling them across the window to get all of the fabric. Stopping for a moment, he pointed a finger at Alan. "He does smoke in other places. In his car, in the woods, wherever he thinks he won't be found. But if you haven't noticed, it's getting colder and pretty soon he won't be able to smoke outside without freezing his butt off. So I'm letting him smoke in here."

"And what happens when the administration finds out?" The younger boy retorted. "You know the rules about smoking on campus! What then?"

"I've got it all worked out," Lee replied, handing the deodorizer back to Alan. "Mackenzie will provide us with sprays to freshen the air and the bedding. Opening up the windows clears the smoke out quickly. He'll only smoke in here three times a week; and only after inspection. The other days, he'll find other places, other friends. We can wash our bedding every time there's laundry day." He rounded on Alan, his face hard and his voice harder, and poked a finger in the younger boy's chest. "In fact, the only way the administration is going to find out, Tracy, is if _you_ tell them."

"What? You think they're stupid? You think they won't notice?" Alan hissed, poking his finger right back. "You think I want to walk around smelling like a cigarette butt? No way!"

Lee took hold of Alan's shirt and pulled their faces close together. "When you and I became roommates, I told you up front that there might be things going on in here that the administration frowned on. You said you could keep quiet as long as it wasn't illegal. Now I'm calling you on that! What Trey is doing _isn't _illegal; he's of age. So you keep your mouth shut, or else."

"Or else what?" Alan challenged, his own blue eyes hard as he looked into Lee's brown ones.

"Or else I will make your life hell on earth," Lee said with a savage smile. "I'm on the track team. I have sway with the coach and with Zave. I'm popular; people will believe what I say about you. I can start a rumor that will sweep the campus and turn your friends against you. And not even all your daddy's money can stop it from happening."

There was a long, tense silence between them, then Alan slid his hands between Lee's wrists and shoved outward. "Hands off!" he growled. Once free of Lee's grasp, he turned from his roommate and walked over to his computer. Swiveling back, he threw the bottle of fabric spray back at the older boy. "Here. He's _your_ friend and _you're_ letting him smoke in here. You can do all the work covering it up, including_ my _bed. I'm outta here." Then picking up his satellite phone and pulling out his jacket, he stalked out of the room.

xxxx

Alan went out to the grassy quadrangle that the dorms all faced. It was cool though sunny, and he was glad he had his jacket. He sat down with his back to one of the giant oaks that peppered the grassy rectangle. Looking up, he saw the sun glinting through the yellowing leaves, and watched as one floated down on a light breeze to land on the grass some distance away. The lawn was covered with a sprinkling of such large, golden flakes, and he sighed, letting the far off sounds of birds and breeze help him compose himself. Then he plugged in his earphone/mike and dialed home.

The vidphone in the office rang, and Jeff turned his chair to reach for it. He was pleased to see that the call was from Alan.

"Hey, Dad."

Jeff was surprised to see how sober and tired looking his son was. "Hello, Alan! What's up? What's the news on the track team?"

"The track team?" Alan asked. He brightened a bit. "Oh, yeah! I made the team. Four events: cross-country, long jump, high jump, and I'm an alternate on javelin."

"Hey! That's great! Congratulations!" Jeff enthused. "I didn't know you'd tried out for javelin."

"I did, but I wasn't expecting it," Alan replied. His conversation trailed off, and his father frowned in concern.

"You don't seem too happy about it," Jeff said. "What's the matter?"

_Do I tell him about the smoking? No, this is one thing I have to deal with myself. _Having made that decision, Alan flapped a hand. "Oh, I was just talking to Fermat's roommate, A.J. We walked back to the dorms from the snack shop together. We were talking about families and he asked about Mom and I told him, then he told me about his mom. She and his father are divorced and A.J. doesn't see her except on Christmas. The rest of the year, nothing. Except maybe a birthday present." He puffed out a breath. "On top of that, his dad's out of the country a lot. I get the impression they don't talk much."

"Sounds like he's pretty lonely," his father commented, his voice quiet.

"Yeah. I think he is. I'm glad Fermat brought him into our group. Maybe we can help."

Jeff nodded. "Maybe you can. So, tell me about the rest of your day."

Alan shrugged. "Not much to tell. Jason Cunningham whipped me at foosball, then the team roster went up. I treated Fermat and A.J. to milkshakes to celebrate, then walked back to the dorms with A.J. Fermat wanted to play some pinball, so he stuck around the games room."

"How much homework do you have?"

"Some. I'll get it done, don't worry. Track practice starts after classes on Monday. I understand that Xavion Lewis, the team captain, will be busting our butts," he said with a wry, lopsided smile.

"Is he related to your friend Qaeshon?"

"Yeah, they're brothers, only Zave is two years older and looks like he's two feet taller," Alan quipped. "I think he'll be almost as tough to please as Scott can be."

"I'm sure he will," Jeff replied, grinning. "Hey, I see you're outside. Enjoying the sun?"

"Yeah, I am," Alan replied. "Plus, my roommate is entertaining a friend. Didn't want to intrude." _Now if he'll just buy that..._

There was something not quite right about how Alan had said what he did, some little nuance that told Jeff things weren't what they should be. "That's polite of you, Alan," he replied carefully. "But don't let your roommate ride roughshod over you. It's your room, too, you know."

Alan glanced away for a second. "Yeah, I know. It's just... it's not someone I particularly get along with."

"I see," his father commented in a neutral tone. He knew there was something more to it; but wasn't sure if he should pursue it. Over the summer, he had found that trying to probe too deeply made his youngest son put up stronger walls. _He'll tell me in his own good time, _Jeff decided. He shifted his chair, absently rolling his shoulders, still a bit bruised from his adventure in the snow.

Alan caught the motion and frowned. "You okay, Dad?"

"Yes, son. I'm okay. Just had a little fall in the Rockies the other night," Jeff replied, waving a dismissive hand.

_How could I have forgotten to ask?_ The teen lowered his voice. "At the rescue?"

"Yes, but it's okay, really. I was pinned under a collapsed tent and a hell of a lot of snow. But Scott pulled my butt out and I'm fine."

"How did things go overall?"

"Well, not as quickly as I would have liked. Thunderbird One nearly iced up in the weather. But we got the victims out and to medical attention and that's what counts."

"Anybody else hurt?" The more they discussed the rescue, the more tense Alan became.

Jeff shook his head, smiling. "No, just a couple cases of frost nip for Gordon and me. We were all thawed out by the time we got home."

Alan let out an audible, "Whew!" and his shoulders relaxed. "I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier, Dad."

"Hey!" his father exclaimed. "You've had a lot on your mind, Alan! New roommate, track tryouts, Fermat's arm, classes; I don't blame you for forgetting." He pointed to the screen, grinning. "And now that it's happened, I doubt it will happen again."

Alan chuckled for the first time during their conversation. "Yeah, I think you're right."

Suddenly, a loud klaxon went off in the office, making Alan grimace as the sound of it reached his ears. "Speaking of rescues..." Jeff pressed a button, and a tray slid out, a hand-shaped depression in a plastic sheet. He put his hand on it and the room began to change before Alan's eyes.

Virgil came pelting in, saw Alan's face on the vidphone screen and waved. "Hey, Sprout!"

"Hey, Virge!" Alan said, waving back.

"Gotta go, son," Jeff said, regret in his voice.

"I understand, Dad," the youngest Tracy said with a nod. "Be careful, huh?" He paused for a moment, then said, "One last thing, Dad."

"Yes, son?" The room had almost finished its transformation from office to control center and Jeff's attention was beginning to be diverted.

"I love you."

Jeff stopped what he was doing and looked Alan full in the face. "I love you, too, Alan. Talk to you later."

"Later. Tag's on you."

"Right. I'll remember that. Goodbye, son."

"Bye, Dad. Bye, guys!" he called to the other brothers who had finally arrived. They waved and called back, then Alan reluctantly ended the conversation.

He leaned back against the tree, gazing upward, but his mind was thousands of miles away, watching Thunderbird One launch. He closed his eyes, as a longing for home snatched at his heart. His eyes grew moist as he thought of the island, and the pool pulling back, and the sleek rocket plane shooting into the sky, white contrails following. The cliff opening and the green workhorse trundling out, stopping at the end of the short runway, the clamps clanking into place, holding the giant still as it was tipped up forty-five degrees. The engines firing, red and hot, pushing the craft up and into the air, like some insect that wasn't truly meant to fly. Sitting in the cockpit of the red rocket, watching the silo roof iris open, the sections of the library parting to make room for the powerful ship that was about to be launched into the atmosphere and beyond.

He allowed himself to savor the images for a moment more, then he sighed. He opened his eyes. His vision was filled with the yellowing leaves again, and he removed his earpiece, putting both that and his phone in his jacket pocket. _Gotta go find Fermat. _he thought as he levered himself to his feet and headed back to the Student Union.

_

* * *

Where is the rescue and what is it? Will Alan stand up to Sugi? Will he find Fermat? Will there be another attack? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**Laurelleaves: **Did he make it? Well, now you know! Thanks for the compliments! As for the attacks, we'll see how things turn out, won't we?  
**Destiny Lynn: **I'm glad you like the story, and thank you so much for the very nice words. I'll keep in mind that you might be a reader but not a reviewer, though I'll admit that I love reviews (hint, hint).  
**MonicaG: **The suspense is over. I hope you're still alive out there somewhere!  
**Mae: **(chortles maniacally at hearing the scream) He made the team.  
**Lorency: **Yeah, he got in. And the tag was on Alan, but now it's up to Jeff to call back. Yeah, I've got ideas about the attacks. More on those later.  
**Virgil's Grl: **Sorry to disappoint, but he made the team and the various jumps. Thanks for your nice words.  
**Claudette: **Thanks for the compliment on Alan's character. I was surprised, too, and so was Alan, as you saw. Racing cars, racing cars... gotta think about that one. And those screams were music to my ears, mwhahahahah! As far as the attacks are concerned, nice guesses. You'll have to wait a bit to find out if you're right.  
**numbuh 14: **I'm glad you're enjoying the suspense and the story. Thanks for the compliments.  
**Math Girl:** I love writing boys being boys. And you know what a softie I am about Jeff, even the movie Jeff. I think Alan is learning to appreciate his dad, and Jeff's learning to let go and trust Alan more. And I could not let Fermat not make the quiz team. Hopefully we'll see him in action soon.


	11. Uncomfortable Positions

_Author's note: _A rarity with me, a very short chapter! Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and being a sounding board, and preventing me from making a terrible gaffe! That's the best kind of betareader! Reviewer responses at the end.

_Special note:_ I've added a very basic layout of the Wharton Academy campus (as I envision it) to my photobucket account. See my bio for links.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan stepped into the games room and scanned the crowd for any sign of his friend. The pinball games proved to be manned by people he either didn't know or had a "I was in his class once" acquaintance with. _Fermat must have gotten bored,_ he thought. _Or maybe he's gone back to his room._

Temptation to use the communicator on his wrist rose up, but he batted it down easily. _Emergencies only, _he reminded himself, acknowledging the fact that he would lose the privilege of having the watch should he abuse it. Seeing someone he knew from Ms. Gerrick's class last year, he stepped over to ask about Fermat's whereabouts.

"Hackenbacker?" the boy said. "Israni came and got him. They went off together, talking about hitting the courts."

"Thanks," Alan said. Fermat, though seemingly the stereotypically clumsy geek, had surprisingly advanced hand-eye coordination, which he kept sharp through his rapid typing, and through playing pinball. Once he was on a machine, he zoned out just about everything else and played the game as long as one of the faculty monitors would let him. A half-hour was the usual time limit, and all of the school's machines had his initials at the top of the list of high scores.

_Courts, huh?_ Alan thought to himself as he left the Student Union. _With Dev, that's got to be basketball. _The tall, gangly-looking Indian youth was pretty good at the sport but found the challenge of his academic studies to be more important than playing for the school team. Still, on the weekends he could often be found playing a pick up game or two on the outside courts.

He walked briskly toward the courts, arms swinging, then broke into a trot. He knew it would be a while before any footage of his family in action appeared on the televid, and figured that maybe he could get in a few minutes playing while he waited.

Approaching the courts, he grinned to see Dev score for his side, his long, lanky body leaping up and over his opponents, the ball swishing through the hoop, catching nothing but net. The action shifted to the other end of the court as the opposing side got control of the ball. Fermat was sitting on a bench nearby, watching, cheering on his friend, and talking to the dark-haired boy next to him. Alan came up behind him, and thrust his fist down over his shoulder, his thumb stuck between his fore and middle fingers. The gesture was the sign language letter "t" and it was a signal between the two boys that meant the Thunderbirds were go. Fermat glanced at it, then turned to look at him, an expression of delight on his face. He was itching to ask Alan for details, but knew he couldn't right then and there; it might compromise security. Alan sat down on the bare ground next to the bench and asked, "So, who's winning?"

"The o-other guys," Fermat said, rolling his eyes. "Wish I w-were o-out there. But I c-can't, not with this a-a-a... cast. C-Couldn't play p-pinball very well, either." He turned to his neighbor. "D-Dom? D-Do you know m-my friend, A-Alan?"

Dom leaned over a bit to look at Alan, then shook his head. "I know about him, but we've never been introduced." He held out his hand. "Dom Bertoli."

Alan took the hand and shook it. "Alan Tracy. We've got a mutual friend in Kay Lewis."

"Yeah, he's on the yearbook staff," Dom said.

They were distracted by Dev making another basket, and Alan put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth to whistle loudly while the other two cheered. The game went on, with the other team in possession of the ball, and Alan took a minute to asked Dom, "You okay? I heard about that attack..."

"I'm... okay," Dom said, nodding slightly. "They got the asthma under control at the hospital, and called my folks. But they're in Ft. Lauderdale and... I'm here." He shrugged. "The hospital got permission to release me. I expect my parents up here tomorrow." He turned to Fermat, and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Wish I'd had this one along. Kay tells me he scared the guys away when they went after him."

"Well," Fermat began, blushing. "I-It wasn't j-j-j... only me, y'know. A-Alan here b-brought backup."

"Cool," Dom said, then went back to watching the game.

Someone from Dev's team scored again, and suddenly the game ended. "Who won?" Alan asked.

"The o-other guys," Fermat repeated with a sigh. "46 to 32."

"Well, I'd better be going," Dom said, standing up and stretching. "Nice to meet you, Alan."

"You, too, Dom," Alan replied. He gave Dom a thoughtful look. "Hey, is your roommate Trey Mackenzie?"

Neither Alan nor Fermat could miss the grimace that passed over Dom's face. "Yeah, he is. What about it?"

"Well, I'd like to talk to you about an idea I just got concerning him. It might be good for both of us."

Dom shrugged. "Sure. Why not? We can talk now, if you don't mind walking back to the dorms together."

"Great!" Alan turned to Fermat. "Hey, I'll meet you in your room in a bit, okay?"

"S-Sure," Fermat replied, a puzzled look on his face. "I'll b-be there. G-Got homework to d-d-do."

"See you soon!" the older boy called as he walked off with Dom.

xxxx

"Damn, it's hot!" Gordon groused. He was dressed in his fireproof suit, air tanks connected to his face plate, spraying dicetyline foam at the flames in the path of the Firefly.

"What did you expect, Gords?" Virgil asked from where he was guiding the machine along. "It's a forest fire." He used the bulldozer blade to push aside the charred trees that blocked the bumpy, rut-filled, washboard of a dirt road to the camp. "Thunderbird Five from Firefly. John, how much farther?"

"You've got another kilometer, Virge," John replied. He was using a series of IR surveillance satellites to bounce the image to his screens. The camp was deep in the forests of Ecuador, in the Parque Nacional Yaguní, where a forest fire now raged. There were many small villages around the park, and a few small camps within, of which this was one. The camp was in the path of the fire, and would soon be surrounded. But the small villages were ill-equipped to do more than keep the fire from their own borders and so the sponsors of the camp, a missionary agency in Quito, had called upon International Rescue to pull the campers out.

It had quickly been decided that the easiest way to take the thirty or so teenagers and their adult counselors out was to clear the access road. The fire had cut across the road at one point and many fallen trees, some still on fire, blocked the way. So Jeff unloaded the Firefly, with its load of dicetyline and two of his sons, at the camp. Three campers who were having difficulty breathing were airlifted, along with an adult chaperone, to Puyo, the nearest town having the medical facilities necessary for their care. Since there was no really good spot nearby to set up a command post, Scott parked his Thunderbird on the larger access road leading to the camp and joined his father in Thunderbird Two, helping the folks they were airlifting.

Gordon risked a glance back the way they had come. The three ancient four-wheel drive trucks, each holding eight to ten people, followed slowly along behind them. The air was thick with smoke and still very hot, and he hoped that the air tank kits they had handed out would be sufficient to see the campers and counselors through. Taking a deep breath himself, he turned back and continued to spray his surroundings with green foam.

"Thunderbird One to Firefly," Scott's voice came over the communications links in both Virgil's and Gordon's helmets. "I'm baaaack!"

"Decided to stop shirking, huh?" Gordon quipped, his voice sounding breathy inside his face mask. "How about coming down here and doing some real manly work? The kind that gets you hot and sweaty."

"I have different and more enjoyable ideas on how to get hot and sweaty, Gords," Scott riposted.

"Oh?" Virgil chimed in. "What's her name?"

"Can the chatter boys," came Jeff's no-nonsense tone. "Focus on the job."

There was a chorus of "F-A-B" from the Firefly and Thunderbird One, and a quiet chuckle from Thunderbird Five. Unexpectedly, John's voice, tight and tense cut in, "Firefly from Thunderbird Five. You've got trouble. The wind has shifted and picked up speed. The fire's now ahead of you on your left. I suggest you pick up some speed, too."

Then they heard from Scott, who was flying along the route over them, "Firefly from Thunderbird One. I'd listen to what John says. You have a bridge ahead. Wooden from the look of it, over a good sized ravine. And the fire is racing you there."

"You heard the man, Virgil," Jeff said. "John, talk to the drivers behind the Firefly and apprise them of the situation. See if they can pick up speed."

"F-A-B," John replied. He turned and pressed a button. This was one translation job he could handle himself; he was fluent in Spanish. He began to rapidly inform the lead truck of the approaching problem.

Virgil began to coax the Firefly to go faster, pressing the pedal down slowly. But the increase in speed meant that the machine hit the bumps with greater force, and this had a decided effect on Gordon's perch.

"Hey!" he called out indignantly as the platform on which the dicetyline guns were located swung back and forth sharply. "Don't forget I'm up here!"

"I won't," Virgil answered through gritted teeth. "Just keep putting out that fire!"

The fact that they were entering an area where the fire hadn't been burning long meant that there were no trees fallen across the road--yet. But the fire was younger, hotter, and burning up the tinder of bushes and leafy ground cover quickly, moving fast as the winds fanned it, sending sparks to ignite more of the dry foliage. Gordon grimly held on tight and sprayed the green foam along each side, trying to aim in front of the Firefly and sweeping back to preserve the dicetyline they had left by not spraying it in the actual road.

Finally, they saw the bridge. Beyond it, the forest was untouched by flame and beckoned like a cool oasis. But Virgil took a good look at the span and groaned. "Firefly to Thunderbirds One, Two and Five. We have reached the bridge, but we've got a little problem here."

"Go ahead, Firefly," Jeff said. "What's the trouble? Is the bridge on fire?"

"Negative. The bridge is fine, but... it's too small for the Firefly."

_

* * *

How are they going to get the Firefly across the bridge? What's Alan's idea? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**Laurelleaves: **I'd be rather peeved at someone smoking in my room, too.Thanks for the good words.  
**Destiny Lynn: **Thanks for taking the hint! I'm glad you like humor and the everyday bits of Alan and Fermat's lives. What would I do if I found my daughter the way you described? Probably the same thing your parents did... then I'd want to know what was so funny.  
**Ellie ET: **Thanks for the good words on the homesickness. I'll keep going.  
**Lorency: **Creepy wasn't the word I'd use to describe Sugi, more like, domineering. Everybody wants A.J. to find out about the Thunderbirds! Does Sugi have something to do with the attacks? Wait and see!  
**Spense: **Thanks for the good words on the story. I tend to get a lot of levels going then have to figure out what one I'm on! I'm glad you like the pacing. It does allow for a lot of depth to the characters and their lives.  
**justdoyourthing: **Thanks! I will!  
**LoLLy: **Thanks for the compliments on the story. What happens between Alan and Sugi is yet to come. I like it when the Tracys get along, too. You're right about the smoking being something that the boys aren't supposed to do. Keep reading and you'll find out what will happen!  
**Sancontoa: **You're right about the track team; there wasn't a whole lot of suspense there... I think. As for the Thunderbirds, you've seen them here! And more to come!  
**Iniysa: **Thanks for nice words about the "I love you". Even boys need to say it to their dads sometimes. You want me to whump on Alan? Then how will he do track? Maybe I'll whump on somebody else instead.  
**Virgil's Grl: **Thanks for the kind words. Sorry this chapter took so long and is so short but after my big push on _Masquerade_, my muse sort of went on vacation (to the Bahamas, I'm sure). You're right about Alan standing up to his brothers, but to him, Sugi is an unknown quantity and not likely to forgive or forget. You have some interesting ideas about who Alan should go to. Thanks for sharing them.  
**Math Girl:** No, money doesn't buy happiness; a lesson that Alan is learning, I think. Hope the rescue is satisfying so far.


	12. Unbearable Heat

_Author's note: _Ah! Back in the saddle again! The rescue winds up... or down, and our schoolboys get into a little mischief. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and being a sounding board. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"So, any ideas?" Virgil asked of his father and brothers. 

"I have one," Jeff stated. "But first, pull out of the way so that those trucks can get across."

"F-A-B," Virgil responded.

Within a few moments, Virgil had cleared a space for the Firefly to pull off the dirt road. John contacted the lead truck driver and told him to drive over the bridge to safety. As each truck eased across the wooden span, the passengers rolled down windows and waved madly at the Firefly's occupants. Behind his air mask, Gordon grinned, and waved back. His eyes followed the vehicles as they rumbled into the fire-free forest across the ravine and out of sight.

"Okay, Dad," Virgil said as the last truck drove off the bridge. "What's the plan?"

"How wide do you think this ravine is right here?" Jeff asked.

"I have no idea," Virgil replied. "Why?"

"We need to find a spot where the ravine narrows to less than the length of the pod," his father explained. "If we can find such a spot, we can just put the pod across and you can drive right on inside."

"Cool idea, Dad," Scott said from his perch overhead in Thunderbird One. "Hey, Gordon, do you have something to measure this ravine with? I have a feeling that the reason this bridge is here is because this_ is _the most narrow spot."

"I don't think we have anything in the Firefly," Gordon said. "But I'm sure there's something on Two." He looked across the landscape, seared and still burning. "We have to do something quick. The dicetyline supplies are running out."

"Just keep the fire away from you and Virgil," Jeff said. "Scott and I will see to measuring the ravine."

"F-A-B," Gordon said, his voice weary. He took a deep breath and continued his fight against the onrushing flames.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two," Jeff said, cutting his communications to just between him and his two eldest sons. "There's no place I can land Two outside of spanning the ravine. The woods are too thick. So, Scott, you're going to have to do this. I'm going to put Two on autopilot while you land One where you had her before. Then I'll lower the toolbox with the laser measure. Unless you have one in Thunderbird One's toolbox?"

"I just might, Dad," Scott said. "I'll take One down and look."

"F-A-B."

"Firefly from Thunderbird Five," John's voice had an urgent tone to it.

"Go ahead, John," Virgil answered.

"The wind has shifted again, and it's coming from the west, which will bring more flames toward your position."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied. "Thunderbirds One and Two from Firefly. I'm going to take the Firefly back out to the roadway and wait there. No sense being caught in this brush."

"F-A-B, Firefly," Jeff answered. "Scott is coming out to measure the ravine right now. He had the ruler in his toolbox."

"F-A-B, Dad." Virgil put the Firefly in reverse and prepared to move it back out to the dirt road. "Virgil to Gordon. I'm pulling out and onto the road again. Hold on tight up there." He paused for a moment, waiting for an answer. "Gordon? Are you all right up there?" Another silent moment, then he called louder, "Virgil to Gordon! Acknowledge!"

"Firefly from Thunderbird Five. What's wrong?" John called.

"I don't know, John!" Virgil cried. "Gordon's not responding!"

xxxx

"C-Come in," Fermat called when he heard the knocking. The door slid open, and Alan walked in, math book under his arm.

"S-So, did things g-g-g... how d-did thing go with D-Dom?" Fermat asked as he swiveled his chair around toward his friend.

"Pretty good," Alan said, dropping the book to the floor and sitting down next to it. "Looks like we might be able to help each other out." He glanced around the room. "Where's A.J.?"

"Th-The library. He left a n-n-note."

"Ah, too bad. Wanted to ask him how things went with his call to his dad," Alan said with a shrug. Then a calculating look came into his eyes. "Hey, I've got an idea. Since he's not here, let's give your dad a call and find out what's going on with the rescue."

"I d-don't know," Fermat said, frowning. "I d-don't think that's such a g-g-good idea. D-Dad would be at the c-c-c... at your father's d-desk. He w-wouldn't appreciated being d-distracted."

"Well then," Alan said as he got up quickly from the floor. "How about the tertiary drive? Open it in a separate window that we can collapse easily... we can lock the door..."

Fermat was silent for a moment, which told Alan that his friend was powerfully tempted by his suggestion. Then he looked up into the older boy's eyes and said, "Lock the d-door."

Alan grinned and did as his friend requested. When he came back to look over Fermat's shoulder, the younger boy was entering a password to access the hidden third drive, the one that was keyed to a server at the command center. "Th-This should give us a p-p-p... an account of wh-what's happening, with c-communications and e-everything."

"Looks like we have some catching up to do," Alan commented as the window opened that listed the communications as if they were a movie script, or an IM conversation. The communicators were listed with either an operative's name or the craft/vehicle they were using. "Look, Dad's piloting Two, Scott's in One, and Gords and Virge are in the Firefly." He frowned. "I wonder where the hell they are?"

Fermat clicked on a link that brought up a map of the world, with a blinking light showing the current position of the Thunderbird craft. He clicked on the light, and the map "zoomed in", showing the forest and which craft was where. "Th-There. They're in E-Ecuador. One is the b-b-blue dot, Two is g-green and the F-Firefly has two Fs on it." He turned his attention back to the communications log. "They're b-battling a f-f-forest f-fire."

Alan prompted his friend to put up a second window of the dialogue. The younger boy could read much faster than the Tracy son, and Alan didn't want to hold Fermat up as they scrolled down.

Finally, they caught up to the end of the dialogue, and Alan's face creased in deep concern, "Gordon? What's wrong with Gords?"

Just then there was a noise at the door. "It's A-A. J.!" he hissed as he quickly shut down the drive, clicking down the windows and map with the speedy application of his mouse.

Alan looked at him in disbelief. "Wait! I have to know...!"

A.J. walked in and both boys looked over at him. He took in their startled expressions and frowned a bit. "Hello, Fermat, Alan. What's going on?"

xxxx

"Damn!" Scott said as he hovered over the Firefly. "He's slumped over the dicetyline cannon!"

"Then we have no time to put down the pod," Jeff said curtly. "Scott, you need to land. Virgil, get out there and see to your brother. I'll prepare the mega-grabs."

Virgil slid his face mask on as he popped the canopy of the Firefly's driver compartment. The heat of the fire, so close to where they were stopped, made him take in a deep breath. He scrambled up over to the cannon's platform, where Gordon's limp form made a gasp catch in his throat. Beyond the end of the Firefly, Thunderbird One made a quick landing, obscured in a billowing cloud of blowing soot and sand. The pilot's cockpit dropped open, and Scott slid out, wearing a face mask and air tank but no heat suit. He ran as fast as he could to join Virgil at Gordon's side.

"What's wrong with him?" Scott asked loudly.

"Heat exhaustion, maybe," Virgil replied, his face furrowed with worry as he examined Gordon. "And he's low on air." He turned to Scott and in a voice tight with fear, ordered, "Let's just get him into One and out of here!"

"Okay, Virgil. Calm down; I'll take him. But Dad will need you down here." Scott bent down and lifted Gordon into a fireman's carry. He grabbed at Virgil's arm briefly, giving him a sharp, serious look. "Will you be okay?" he asked.

Virgil nodded briefly. "I'll be fine. Get Gordy to safety!"

"F-A-B," Scott replied. He withdrew his hand, readjusted Gordon's weight, and hurried off to his 'Bird.

Virgil watched them go for a few seconds then turned his attention back to the fire. "Damn! The dicetyline supply is below five percent!"

"Just keep the fire at bay," Jeff's no-nonsense voice cut in. "I'll be over your position in a few seconds. Then I'll lower the mega-grabs. You'll need to attach the grabs for me."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied. His father's commanding tone was exactly what he needed to stay focused on the job at hand. He pressed the trigger on the dicetyline cannon and watched the green foam shoot out under high pressure, extinguishing the flames that crawled so close to him.

Thunderbird One took off with a roar and another scattering of sand and soot. It flew off over the ravine, toward the cool forest, passing above Thunderbird Two's bulk as it moved slowly towards Virgil and the stranded Firefly. The winds kicked up by Thunderbird Two's hoverjets pushed some of the fire away from the pod vehicle, and the cargo craft came between the hot, smoke wreathed disk of the sun, making it easier for Virgil to look up. A door in the base of the pod slid open and the bright yellow magnetic mega-grabs came snaking down towards him. He allowed himself a small, grim smile behind his face mask; his father's aim was as good as his own.

"I've got the grabs! Let out another three meters of cable!" he directed.

"F-A-B," came Jeff's voice, audible only because it was directly fed to Virgil's ear. The grabs moved down a bit more, and Virgil pushed them open just a touch so that they would connect with the special pads that were built into each pod vehicle in the event of such an emergency.

"Okay! They're in position!"

"F-A-B!" said Jeff. There was a humming noise as the electromagnets came to life and Virgil listened carefully for the tell-tale clanks that meant the vehicle was secure.

"Wait, Dad! Release the clamp! Pad one isn't in position!" Virgil jumped down from the cannon platform as the humming noise stopped. He checked out the magnetic foot that was designated as pad one. It wasn't quite in place, and he moved it slightly forward. Then he checked the other feet, feeling the heat of the fire as it tried again to approach his position. There was a loud crash behind him and a tree fell across the road, missing the Firefly by mere inches. He jumped at the sound, then leaped back up onto the platform. "Try it now!"

The magnets hummed into life again and this time Virgil heard four solid clanks. He sighed, letting his shoulders relax a bit, then climbed back into the driver's cab. Sealing it up again, he called into his face mask's communicator, "We're good to go, Thunderbird Two. I'm strapping in and ready to blow this popsicle stand!"

"F-A-B!" Jeff's voice filter down, sounding relieved. "Upsy daisy!"

The big winch that had lowered the grabs began to take up the slack on the cable, and slowly the Firefly moved into the air. The winch stopped, leaving about three meters between the bottom of the pod and the Firefly, then Two moved out, going slowly so as not to create too much of a swing.

Virgil took off his face mask and hood and ran his hand through his short, light brown hair. It was wet with sweat, and he shook his head sharply, letting sweat drops fly before he ran a hand through his locks again. "Firefly to Two, how's Gordon?"

"Don't know, Virgil," Jeff said, his voice sounding weary. "Scott's taken him to the nearest hospital. He couldn't wait for Two's sickbay."

"The hospital at Peyo reports that Thunderbird One is on approach to their helijet pad," a third voice broke in.

"Hey, John," Jeff said with a touch of humor. "Almost forgot you were there."

"Yeah, right, Dad," John replied. "Not when I was reporting every little shift in wind direction so you knew what was going on when you were on your way to and from Peyo." Virgil could hear his brother blow out a long breath of air. "That was too damned close, Virge. You guys are going to give me premature gray hairs."

"Then your hair won't_ need _peroxide," Virgil quipped.

"Ha, ha, very funny."

"Virgil, we've got a sizeable clearing coming up. I'm going to let you down and then open up the pod so you can put the Firefly to bed. I don't think it's safe for me to carry you like this all the way to Peyo," Jeff told him.

"F-A-B," Virgil replied. "Let's do it." He paused and said, "Just be glad you're up in Five where it's air conditioned, John. It was hot as hell down here today."

"I'd much rather have been down there helping you out than staying up here listening and not able to do a damned thing," John came back sharply. Then his voice moderated. "I'm sorry, Virge. I'm just worried about Gordon."

"We all are," Jeff cut in. "Good thing Alan has no idea what's going on out here. I'm sure he'll hear about it though. I think I saw Lisa Lowe's crew setting up at the hospital in Peyo."

Virgil groaned. He wondered briefly how the reporter got to their rescue venues so quickly, then he leaned over to see the ground slowly coming up toward him as his father let the Firefly back down to the dry, grassy ground.

xxxx

"Uh, ah, just checking the scores," Alan prevaricated. He picked up his math book, and gave A.J. a weak grin. "Got to get going on the homework."

"Hmm. What scores?" the younger boy asked.

"Football!" Alan said at the same time as Fermat blurted out, "B-Baseball!" The two of them exchanged glances as A.J.'s frown grew deeper. Fermat indicated Alan with his head. "F-Football."

"Oh, okay. Are either of you going to dinner?" A.J. asked as he put his things away.

"Uh, no. We usually we just hang out and snack," Alan explained. "Same thing on Sunday nights."

"Uh, I've g-got to go t-to the infirmary," Fermat said with a small groan. "M-Medication." He sighed. "I might as well g-go to the d-dining hall while I'm th-there."

This stopped Alan cold for a moment. "Ah, right," he finally said. "Okay. Well, I guess if you're going to supper, I'll go too."

A.J. smiled. "Great! You can tell me all about the football scores. I've never been interested in the game and maybe it's time I started."

"Uh, sure!" Alan replied. He left his textbook on Fermat's desk as his friend shut down the computer. "We can tell you all about the game, can't we, Brain?"

"Y-Yeah, P-Pinky," Fermat hesitatingly agreed.

The three walked out, with A.J. locking the door behind them. Alan's ears strained to hear what was on the television in the common room, and was relieved that it had nothing to do with his family. But just as he passed out of earshot, Lisa Lowe's blandly pretty face appeared and she began, "The main hospital here in Peyo, Ecuador..."

_

* * *

Will A.J. catch onto Alan and Fermat's deception? What did Alan talk to Dominic about? What's wrong with Gordon and will he recover? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**Virgil's Grl: **Thanks for the good words, and we may see Alan stand up to Sugi yet.  
**Lorency: **Sorry you had to wait, but my muse is finally coming out of her stupor after the long _Masquerade_ marathon. The Firefly thing was a problem, but they worked it out.  
**MonicaG: **Thanks for the kind words on the story. I'll keep going.  
**storm05: **Thanks for reviewing 11! And for the nice compliments.  
**Iniysa: **Sorry, had to whump on poor Gordon this time. I'll think about Alan, but truthfully, I think he's been whumped on enough lately!  
**LoLLy: **Thanks for your kind words on the story; I'm glad you're enjoying it! You'll see what Alan's plans are very soon.  
**Sancontoa: **I do like cliffhangers! But I've resolved this one, and as I've said, you'll discover Alan's plans soon enough. Sorry about the wait on the update; I had a log jam to clear out before I really could get rolling on this chapter.  
**Math Girl:** Thanks for the good words on the rescues; I was much more pleased with this portion of it than I was with the first. Yeah, those guys can get pretty rowdy when they want to be, even if they aren't on a space station full of stoned scientists... LOL!


	13. Unavoidable Deception

_Author's note: _Gordon's in the hospital and Alan and Fermat get some news... but not the way they want. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Information on heat stroke and heat exhaustion comes from:  
**http:(double slash)www(dot)umm(dot)edu/altmed/ConsConditions/HeatExhaustioncc(dot)html**  
and **www(dot)drreddy(dot)com/heat(dot)html.** Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Earth to Pinky, Earth to Pinky." Qaeshon waved a dark hand in front of Alan's face. 

Alan startled from his reverie. "Wha...? Oh! Hey, Kay."

"Where were you?" his friend asked. "You looked like you were in outer space somewhere."

The blond shook his head to clear it, and gave Qaeshon and the rest of the crew a half-hearted grin. "Yeah, I guess maybe I was."

For some odd reason, perhaps it was the offering of pizza delivered from one of the places in town, a lot of the boys who normally would have skipped Saturday night dinner at Wharton were in the dining hall, scarfing down pizza and generally having a good time. Alan and Fermat's little group, minus Ralph, were all present. Alan had tried to explain some of the intricacies of football to A.J. on their way to the infirmary, but after they left there, he became quiet, worrying about Gordon and basically feeling as if the troubles of the world were on his shoulders. It had not gone unnoticed.

"Hey, Pinky, what's up?" Jason asked. "You've been awfully quiet."

"Yeah, I know," Alan sighed. He knew he couldn't tell them about his brother, and Fermat had been watching him like a hawk - _A hawk with glasses. Now there's a weird image - _to see that he didn't. _I can't tell them about Gordon, but maybe... maybe I can spike Sugi's guns a little._

"Hey, guys?" Alan asked, his serious voice garnering the attention of his friends. He paused, making sure all eyes were turned his way, then asked, "If someone started a... a nasty rumor about me, would you believe it?"

The boys all exchanged glances, each of them making contact with Fermat's eyes. Not knowing what his friend was driving at, Fermat shrugged and shook his head a little in answer.

At last, Qaeshon broke the silence. "What kind of fool question is that, Pinky? Of course we wouldn't. You're our... our Pinky and we _know_ you. We know the kind of stuff you're made of."

"Yeah, Pinky," Jason piped up. "We wouldn't even listen." He stopped and thought for a moment. "Well, if it involved some pretty girl... I might ask for a phone number."

The boys chuckled, and even Alan joined in, a little.

"I think," A.J. ventured. The other boys stopped their chatter to listen to him. He was still new to the group, but as he didn't talk very much, when he did have something to say the others listened all the more carefully. "I think," he repeated, "that if I heard a nasty rumor about you... about any of you, I'd ask you about it." He paused for thought, then said, "And I'd try to track down where the rumor came from."

"Yeah, that's what I'd do, too," Qaeshon agreed.

Alan swallowed then asked, "What if it came from a... a popular source. Someone who people respect."

"I-If you t-told me it was a l-l-l... it wasn't t-true, it wouldn't m- matter to me _who_ the s-s-source was," Fermat said firmly. "I'd b-believe _you_." He stared at his old roommate, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Wh-What's going on, A-Alan?"

"Nothing," Alan lied and shrugged. "I... I was just wondering."

"Hey, you can't fool us, Pinky," Jason said, frowning. "Something's up. Come on now, spill it!"

"I can't, Jase, not now," Alan replied with another sigh. "But when I can, I promise I will."

There was a moment of silence, then Qaeshon said quietly, "Whatever it is, we're here for you."

Alan smiled a little. "Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot."

The talk around the table was slow starting up again. "Hey, A.J.," Alan asked. "How'd your call to your father go?"

"It was okay," A.J. replied. "I think he was surprised that I called just to talk." He snorted, a self-deprecating laugh. "I usually call to ask for more money... or to complain." Looking at Fermat, he said, "I never really thought before about what I was doing when I called. I guess hearing you talk to your dad kinda... well, it showed me a couple of things."

Before Fermat could comment, Alan jumped in and said, "I know what you mean. That was me last year. I hated the idea of being here, so far from my family. But this year... it's different. I'm having... fun." He rolled his eyes. "If you _can_ have fun at school..."

"You c-can," Fermat said firmly. "I d-do."

"Yeah, but you're the _Brain_," Qaeshon cut in, grinning. "For you, school is like summer camp... that lasts for nine months."

The resulting chuckles broke the ice again, and the talk turned to less serious topics. Finally, their appetites sated, the little group split up. Alan had Fermat walk with him as he disposed of their trays, and hissed, "We _have_ to call your dad! I need to know about Gords!"

"I-I d-don't see how!" Fermat hissed back. "Not w-with A.J. in the r-room!"

"Hmm." Alan tried to think of a solution to their current dilemma. He didn't want to bring Fermat back to his room because he didn't know if it still smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Finally, he got an idea. "Wait for me at the games room. I'll go get my phone."

"Why can't w-we go to y-your room?" the bespectacled boy asked in a whisper.

"We can't," Alan whispered back.

"Why not?"

"We just... can't. Trust me on this."

O-Okay," Fermat said quietly just as A.J. caught up with them. "A.J-J. I'm going to the g-games room for a b-bit."

"Do you mind if I come with you?" A.J. asked.

"Uh, well," Alan hemmed. "I just remembered," he said all in a rush. "I left my math book in your room. I'd better go get it so we can study together."

Fermat rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly at his friend's quick change of plan. "Y-You're right. We'd b-better get the h-homework done f-first. Sorry, A.J."

"Oh, that's all right. Maybe we can go some other time," A.J. commented amiably. "I think I'd better get my own homework done, too. I'll walk back to the dorm with you."

The two best friends looked at each other and sighed.

xxxx

Thunderbird Two made a smooth landing on the cleared lot next to the hospital in Peyo. A sign there indicated that the lot would soon be used to build a new wing, and Jeff absently made a mental note to look into it as a possible venue for a financial donation. He groaned when he saw Lisa Lowe hurry over... or try to. The first visit he made to Peyo had allowed him to touch base with their Ecuadorian agent, who set up security around the hospital. The militia was now surrounding the building, screening people who really were sick and injured and providing a buffer between the populace, who were outside waiting for an opportunity to see the heroes of International Rescue, and the Thunderbird craft. Jeff turned on the camera fogger, and hurried to join Virgil in the passenger lift, taking along his helmet for good measure.

They rode down in the three seater lift, the arm extending from the belly of Thunderbird Two's main chassis and lowering them gently to the ground. Virgil used the control pad on his wrist to activate the recall function and the arm rose again. The remote wrist band was another idea that was being tested on the field; it was to be used only during rescue operations and therefore wouldn't be integrated with the communicators, which were meant for daily use both on and away from base. Jeff did not want some stray pickpocket or mugger to end up with the controls that would give them access to a Thunderbird, even for a second.

The crowd shouted and waved at them and the two men gave a wave of acknowledgment, then turned and hurried on into the hospital. Jeff was glad for the helmet; the camera fogger wasn't proof against telephoto lenses and he had no desire to have his picture, in an IR uniform, plastered all over the press. On the way, they passed Thunderbird One, safely buttoned up and sitting on the helijet pad. Jeff gave Virgil a nudge, and they picked up their pace.

The militiamen and women who were guarding the hospital let them through without trouble, and their Ecuadorian agent, Augustin Enrico Diaz, met them at the entrance to the emergency treatment area. "This way," he said in fluent, if accented, English.

They ducked behind a curtain and Jeff finally felt secure enough to remove his helmet. Scott was standing out of the way, holding onto his own helmet. Jeff handed his off to Virgil, and went over to the bed where doctors were treating an ashen-faced Gordon. "Hey, Gordon."

Gordon looked up at his father and managed a small smile. "Hey, Commander." He waved a listless hand, the one without the I.V. line in it. "C'n ya tell these guys I want outta here?"

Jeff smiled. "Let's just find out what the doctor has to say, first." He glanced across the bed. "Doctor? How is he?"

Diaz stood at Jeff's right elbow, and asked Jeff's question in rapid Spanish. The doctor met the IR commander's eyes then began to speak, and Diaz started to translate. "The doctors say he is suffering from heat exhaustion," he said. "His temperature on arrival was over thirty-eight degrees centigrade, which is normal for this condition. They are trying to bring his temperature down with cold packs. The intravenous line is there because there is indication of dehydration."

Jeff nodded. Gordon's heat suit had been cut away, as had the protective under layer that was designed to wick away perspiration. His skin was pale and clammy, and he lay still, a condition so very unusual for this son. But he was breathing normally and the monitors he was hooked up to declared that his heart was beating in a regular rhythm, though it sounded a little on the fast side to his father. Jeff glanced over at the doctor again, addressing him even though he knew his words would be translated by Diaz. "How long will he need to be here?"

The doctor's reply was short and to the point. "As long as it takes for his temperature to go down to normal," Diaz translated.

Jeff reached out and gently stroked Gordon's short, dark hair, then sighed and turned to Scott. "See what you can get to eat and drink. Then contact Five and base. We may be here a while."

xxxx

The three boys returned to Maplewood, Alan trying hard to curb his impatience and figure out a way that he and Fermat could get the privacy they needed to call Brains. But once they got to the third floor, he was immediately diverted by the news that played on the wide screen TV in the common room.

"Lisa Lowe here in Peyo, Ecuador, with an update on the injured International Rescue operative. The hospital has confirmed that one of the pilots has been admitted to the emergency room for treatment, but is not giving any details on his or her condition. Thunderbirds One and Two are on the ground here, and three other operatives have entered the hospital. None of them seemed to be injured. Reports from the Parque Nacional Yaguní indicate that they were fighting a forest fire and rescuing people stranded at a small missionary camp within the park. There has been no... wait..."

Lisa put a hand up to her earphone. "I have just received official confirmation of the venue and nature of the Thunderbirds' latest rescue. Yes, a missionary group in Quito has issued a statement thanking International Rescue and praising them for their work in reaching and removing over thirty campers and counselors from the midst of a raging forest fire."

The scene switched back to the newsroom, where anchorman Ned Cook asked, "Lisa, with this news from Quito, is there any speculation on what injuries the Thunderbird operative may have sustained?"

"None, Ned. But I will keep you updated on the situation."

"Thank you, Lisa. That was Lisa Lowe, reporting from Peyo, Ecuador with the latest on the injured Thunderbirds operative."

Fermat looked up at Alan, who had gone pale and was staring at the screen. He touched his friend's shoulder briefly. "A-Alan?" he called softly. "We h-have homework t-to do."

Alan whirled, about to retort angrily about Fermat's seeming insensitivity, but as he did, he noticed A.J. looking at him with an expression of puzzlement and curiosity. He clenched a fist, took a deep breath, and replied, "Yeah, Fermat. Let's... let's get to it."

_

* * *

Will Gordon recover? Will Alan confront Sugi? Will Fermat call home? Will A.J. figure things out? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**storm05: **Yes, bad timing on A.J.'s part; and now he's got food for thought. Thanks for your compliments. No way am I "stuck" with them; I appreciate them.  
**Sancontoa: **Yeah, I've been called the "Devil Incarnate" before so I know I'm evil... mwahahaha... ahem, sorry about that. I hope you come back to life after this chapter... or we'd be dealing with a zombie! LOL!  
**Mae: **I'm glad to hear that the update helped you a little on your exam day; how'd you do on the test? You've got an interesting take on the Alan stories, it intrigued me very much. I'm glad you like this one. Please, continue reading!  
**Lorency: **You're right about him worrying; now he's even more worried! I think he may have enjoyed his food, at least a little. I mean, what teenager _doesn't_ enjoy pizza? (Other than my daughter, that is.)  
**Blue-eyes-magic: **I'm glad you're enjoying the story!  
**LoLLy: **Well, the family seems to be okay, with the exception of Gordon and of Alan, who's _tres_ worried. And A.J. is beginning to... ahem... "blossom", though not in the same way Tin-Tin was. Thanks for your compliments and I'm happy you like the story.  
**Emerald Queen: **Yes, it's pretty obvious. Now let's see how suspicious A.J. gets and what the boys do if he says anything.  
**TracyLOVER: **Yes, there is. No further comment needed.


	14. Unknown Quantities

_Author's note: _Alan finally hears from his family. A.J. asks a question, and Alan reveals his plans to Sugi. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff touched Scott's shoulder. "Give John a call," he said quietly. "Have him phone Alan, using the holographic background. I'm sure Alan's heard what's happened and is worried." 

"F-A-B," Scott replied with a nod. He moved away to make his call, confident that the communications equipment Brains had designed wouldn't disrupt the hospital's medical devices.

Jeff returned to the bed, and to Gordon, who was still lying quietly against the raised mattress, his eyes closed. The EKG showed a slowing of the patient's pulse rate back into a more normal range. The doctor came in, checked the equipment readings and his datapad, then said something to Gordon, which Diaz translated.

"I'm still feeling pretty wrung out," Gordon answered. His voice was rough, and a nurse who stood by gave him a smile and offered him a drink of water as Diaz translated his comment to the doctor.

The physician nodded and smiled, patting the young man on the shoulder, then he called to Jeff, "Señor?"

"Yes?" Jeff replied, glancing up.

The doctor began speaking in rapid Spanish, and Diaz listened, asked a quick question, then faced Jeff. "The doctor says that Gordon's temperature has dropped to a level where transport to your medical facilities would be advisable. He hopes that your physicians will continue to monitor the situation and orders Gordon to rest and be kept off duty for..." Diaz exchanged another few words with the medico then continued, "... for at least three days, then on light duty for another week."

Jeff smiled and nodded. "I understand. If the doctor could prepare Gordon for discharge, I would be grateful."

Diaz passed the message along, and the doctor nodded, consulting his data pad to begin the discharge procedures. Jeff turned to find both Scott and Virgil at his side, questioning looks on their faces.

"Virgil, go power up Two and prepare her for departure."

"F-A-B," Virgil said eagerly. He gave Gordon a light, playful punch to the shoulder and a grin before he left, fastening his helmet on before leaving the cubicle.

"Scott? Status report." Jeff glanced over at his eldest son.

"John has received your instructions and will be carrying them out momentarily," Scott said.

"F-A-B," Jeff replied. "I want you to get One airborne so the helijet pad will be clear for Two's rescue basket. The closer Two gets to the hospital, the better I like it."

"F-A-B," Scott said, nodding. He turned to his younger brother. "See you back at base, Gords."

"See you," Gordon murmured as Scott gave him a small salute, picked up his helmet, and left.

Jeff smiled as he watched his sons go off to carry out his orders. He spared a moment to think of his second eldest and youngest sons, who would both probably need an update before the rescue crew headed home. He moved away from the bed to bring John and, through him, Alan, up to speed.

xxxx

The tune "Dangerous Game" sounded in Fermat's room, muffled by the pocket of Alan's jacket. The teen was startled, and jumped, showing his companions how jittery he still was just as the two younger boys thought he might have started calming down. Alan fumbled for the phone, pulling it out and dropping his earpiece on the floor as he did. Scooping the device up, he slipped the plug into the appropriate place and the business end into his ear, then pressed the green button.

John's handsome face filled the screen and Alan blinked. His brother was wearing a gray polo shirt, the Tracy Industries logo discreetly embroidered just below the left shoulder. He looked as if he were in an office somewhere, with a wall behind him, painted off-white, and a dark, wooden door frame set into the wall to the right of the screen. There was no sign that John was in a space station orbiting the Earth, and it took Alan a moment to realize just what he was seeing. _Is that the hologram?_

"Hey, John," Alan said, nervously running the tip of his tongue over his lips to moisten them. "What's up?"

John grinned. "The sky, the stars, Dad's blood pressure..."

Alan groaned, then rolled his eyes, and suddenly, he wasn't quite so tense. "I like your new digs," he quipped back. "Very... official looking."

"Thanks, Sprout," John replied, a slight wry twist to his lips. "They are _very_ temporary." He paused to see how Alan would react, then continued. "Dad wanted me to call you and see how you were."

"Fine, I'm fine," Alan said, nodding. He tried to come up with a way to ask his vital question that wouldn't sound too suspicious and finally asked, "How are you? How is everyone at home?"

"Doing good," John replied with a smile. "Dad wanted you to know that Gordon got a little overheated. He's been seen by a doctor, is doing better, and is on his way home now."

Alan's shoulders relaxed and he stifled a relieved sigh. "Good to hear."

"That's what I said." John smiled again when he saw Fermat's head peeking over Alan's shoulder. He waved a bit. "Hey, Fermat!"

"Oh, hey! Let me take out my earplug and set the phone up on the desk. Then you can talk to all of us." Alan quickly did as he had described, and within moments Fermat was also talking to John.

"H-Hey, John," the younger boy said, peering at the screen carefully. "I like the n-new r-room."

"So do I. Wish I could stay here longer. It's a nice change from my usual office," John replied with a chuckle and a wink. "So, what have you been doing?"

"M-Math homework. Alan and I st-still try to w-work on it t-t-together." Fermat glanced over at A.J., who was reading, or at least that's what it looked like he was doing. "We saw that the Th-Thunderbirds were ou-out and about t-today."

"Really?" John asked, sounding as if he were weary of the subject, the bland and barely interested look on his face perfection itself. "Where were they _this_ time?"

"Ecuador," Alan chimed in. "Fighting a forest fire or something."

"One of th-them got hurt," Fermat added.

"Oh. Well, I hope that he or she is okay, whoever they are." John sighed, making it sound as if he were as bored as possible. "Is school going well?"

"Yeah," Fermat said. "Even d-despite this." He held up his arm, showing his cast to the face on the phone's screen. He gave his roommate another glance, and his eyes widened behind his glasses. "H-Hey, John! My r-roommate is a b-b-b... huge fan of y-yours!"

"That's right!" Alan said, a grin spreading over his face. "Hey, A.J.! C'mon over here and meet my brother, John!"

A.J. looked quickly over at Alan, startled by the invitation. John frowned a little bit at being put on the spot, but as Fermat urged his roommate to join them, John sat up straighter and put a pleasant expression on his face.

"Hello, Mr. Tracy," A.J. said hesitantly, standing with Fermat sitting at his right and Alan slightly behind him and to the left. "I'm, uh, Andrew John Trumbull." He glanced at Alan, then Fermat and made a movement toward the latter with his head. "They call me A.J." He smiled shyly. "I really am a big fan of yours. I've read all of your books, and, well, it's really great to meet you."

John beamed. "Nice to meet you, too, Andrew. And please, call me John. I always think it's fun to run across someone who's as interested in astronomy as I am. Tell me, what are your favorite constellations?"

"I like Orion and Sirius. The story behind them is pretty fascinating and they're easy to spot. I wish I could have brought my telescope when I came to school. The sky's been really clear lately," A.J. said, his shyness forgotten as he warmed to the topic. "I would have joined the astronomy club, but my father said I had to limit myself to one extra-curricular activity and I chose chorale." He shrugged his shoulders a little. "Want to make the most of my counter-tenor while I still have it, I guess."

His idol chuckled. "The stars will always be there, A.J., but your voice? Yeah, that's gonna change." He sighed. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short. Work to do, y'know. Alan? Fermat? You two take care and I'll be in touch soon. Again, Andrew, nice to make your acquaintance. Have a good night, guys."

"G-Good night, John," Fermat said.

"Goodbye, John. It was nice to talk to you," A.J. added.

Alan picked up the phone and plugged his earphone back in. "Hey, bro? Have Dad call me in the morning? And say 'hi' to everyone for me, please? Especially Gords."

"Sure, Sprout."

"Don't call me 'Sprout'," Alan said gruffly.

John laughed. "Now I _know_ you're okay! I was a bit worried when you didn't growl at me before."

"Yeah, well..." Alan hemmed, shrugging. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His voice changed, became a bit softer, and a little bit wistful. "Hey, take care, John. Talk to you later."

"I miss you, too, kid," John replied, reading between the lines of his brother's words and tone. "Later, Al. Bye."

"Bye." Alan paused for a moment, then deactivated the phone. He pulled out his ear plug, wrapped the cord around the device, and stuck both back into his jacket pocket.

John reached over and pushed the button that cut off communications, then tapped the keys that shut down the holographic background, the one that merged with his own picture in the signal to Alan's phone. He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. His silvery uniform was bunched up around his waist, and the gray polo shirt rode up just a bit as he lifted his arms. He sighed, rocked back in his chair for a moment, then leaned forward to tap on the switches that opened up communication with the island.

"Base from Thunderbird Five."

Brains's face came into view, wearing an apprehensive expression. "B-Base here, F-Five. What's the m-m-m... what's up, J-John?"

John looked and sounded cheerful, a _façade_ that hid well the twinge of homesickness he was feeling right then. "Just wanted to let you know that I talked to the boys. Fermat's in good spirits, and helping Alan with his math."

Brains looked surprised for a moment, then smiled softly. "Th-Thanks, John. I'll c-call him l-l-later."

"You're welcome." John gnawed on his thumbnail for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hey, Brains? Do you know where I stashed some of the author's copies of my books?"

"Yeah, I th-think so." Brains frowned, puzzled.

"Can you pull out a volume of each for me? I'll be coming home in a few days and I want to send some autographed copies to Fermat's roommate." He chuckled wryly. "Seems I have at least _one_ fan. Two, if I count Dad."

"S-Sure, John. No p-p-p... I'll do it."

"Thanks, Brains. And please tell my dad I'm waiting to hear the latest when he arrives."

"I w-will, J-John."

"Okay then." John leaned forward again. "Thunderbird Five out."

He paused for a moment, then got up and stretched. "Time to get something to eat," he muttered as he headed for the tiny galley.

Back in the dorm, A.J. had settled back down at his desk, looking pleased. Fermat gazed up at Alan, who was putting on his jacket.

"Is e-everything all r-right at home?"

Alan frowned a bit at Fermat's question, then his face cleared and he looked a bit sheepish as he realized that his friend hadn't heard what he had about Gordon.

"Uh, yeah. Everything's okay. John said that Gordon got a little overheated. Dad took him to a doctor, and they're on their way home. He's gonna be okay, according to John."

"G-Good," Fermat said, relaxing a little. "You h-heading out?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Want to have some time to relax before light's out."

"I'll w-walk you downstairs."

"Okay. See you later, A.J.," Alan said, giving him a wave. The door to the room slid open and Fermat stepped through, turning to wait for his friend.

"Yeah, Alan. Later. Oh, and thanks for introducing me to your brother! That was really great!" A.J. replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey, you're welcome! Hopefully he'll get out here sometime this fall and you can meet him in person."

A.J. looked excited at the prospect. "Oh, boy! Maybe I can get him to autograph my copies of his books for me!"

Alan shook his head as he chuckled. "You never know." Then he stepped into the hall and the door closed behind him.

"Thanks, Fermat, for helping me keep my head on straight earlier," Alan said as he propped himself up against the elevator wall, tilting his head back. "I could have blown everything sky high today if you weren't watching out for me."

"You're w-welcome," the younger boy replied, leaning next to his taller friend. "If it helps any, I w-was c-concerned for G-Gordon, too."

"I know. But you thought about the big picture, when I was just thinking about my brother."

"Hey, that's wh-what friends are f-for," Fermat said, twisting his head to look up at Alan, squinting through his thick glasses.

"Yeah. It is."

There was silence between them as the elevator arrived on the main floor. Alan got out and turned to have a few last words with his friend. "You going to breakfast?"

Fermat nodded. "Have to. M-Medication."

"Right. I think I'll be sleeping in. See you at lunch, then." Alan waved, then stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, his math book pressed up against his side by an elbow, and sauntered off.

Fermat sighed, and pressed the button for the third floor. He rolled his head around, trying to get the kinks out of his neck, and adjusted the strap on his sling where it was chafing him. As he got out of the elevator, he stretched his good arm up and yawned. He put his palm up to the lock, and the door slid open. Greeting his roommate with a quiet, "Hey," he moved over to his desk and began putting away his study supplies.

A.J. watched Fermat without being obtrusive, a thoughtful frown on his pale face. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "Fermat?"

The older boy turned to him, his eyes bleary. "Y-Yeah, A.J.?"

A.J. was quiet for a moment, studying Fermat, biting his lower lip as if making up his mind about something. Fermat shrugged a little and began turning back to his desk when A.J. blurted out, "Why did you and Alan lie to me?"

xxxx

The night was chilly and there was a slight breeze that stirred the leaves, sending them rustling along the grassy quadrangle and skittering along the walkways and road. Alan breathed deeply, enjoying the crisp air. It felt clean, like the air on the island after a thunderstorm had cleared out most of the humidity, leaving a wet, sea scented freshness behind. He thought of how his room had smelled that afternoon and wrinkled his nose. _Sugi had better have dealt with that problem, _he thought, frowning. _If not, I'll see if I can sleep with Kay or Jason. The floor in their rooms would be better than my bed if it smells like a cigarette butt._

He entered the dorm and made his way over to his door, knocking as he had agreed to. There was a muffled, "Come in," and he used the palm scanner.

Lee was lying on his bed, earphones in, a sports magazine in hand. The window was open just a crack, and Alan had to admit the air did feel fresher. He dumped his math book on his desk and hung up his jacket, retrieving his phone and tucking it into his wardrobe. While in the closet, he pulled on the sleeve of a uniform shirt and sniffed. He wasn't sure if he really smelled smoke or not; he knew that his imagination could be make his sense of smell play tricks on him.

"The doors were closed," came a snide voice behind him. "Your clothes should be fine."

"Excuse me for not believing you," Alan answered back without turning, giving tit-for-tat. "But I want to be sure I'm not going to smell like one of your friend Trey's filters."

There was silence behind him, and Alan closed his closet door. _I guess this is as good a time as any to drop my bombshell. _He turned to lean up against the wardrobe, arms folded, staring at Lee. Finally the older boy glanced his way, then turned back to his magazine while asking, "What's eating you, Tracy?"

Alan quietly took a deep breath and replied, "Dom Bertoli and I are going to see Belvedere on Monday during lunch to ask to switch rooms. That way Trey can smoke here without having to worry about aggravating Dom's asthma, you won't have to worry about me blabbing to the administration, and I don't have to put up with your friend's smoking."

During this little speech, Lee put down his magazine and got up, standing slowly and deliberately to his full height, the top of his head a good six inches above the younger boy. He leaned against the bunkbed, mimicking Alan's pose, folding his arms across his chest, all but daring the shorter, slimmer boy to defy him.

Alan kept himself very still, controlling his temper in an effort to control the situation, much as he had often seen his father do. _Man, he reminds me of Scott, when Scott's in his "big brother knows best" intimidation pose. Well, Sugi, I've been there, had that done, and by a **professional**, too. Didn't faze me then, and doesn't faze me now. You just don't know **who** you're dealing with here. _

"So," Lee said in a soft, snide, and dangerous tone, "what do you plan on telling Belvedere? What reason are you going to give her for changing rooms?"

"The same one you'll give her on Tuesday, when you and Mackenzie go to see her," Alan replied, his voice flat and cold. "Irreconcilable differences. Personality clashes."

Lee laughed, low and mocking. "Do you really think that she'll believe it? Believe it to the extent that she'll change our assignments right then and there? And what about your precious Hackenbacker? I thought you were going to try and move back in with him?" He closed in on Alan, hands spread now, a wide-eyed sneer on his face as he shook his head slowly back and forth. "It won't work, Tracy."

Alan raised an eyebrow, and unfolded his arms, pressing his hands against the wood of the closet door, trying to stay in control even though his instincts told him to press the confrontation. However, his voice betrayed his anger; he was seething inside, and he gritted his teeth as he snarled, "Leave Fermat out of this! And it _will_ work--if all four of us go. She can't say no if we're all requesting transfers."

"And what if Trey and I won't go?" Lee asked, his own voice biting as he stared down at Alan, crowding into the younger teen's personal space to do so. "What then?"

Hard blue eyes met brown as Alan replied, in a tight voice that would have done his father proud, "Then _Dom_ will tell her the real reason why. Belvedere will believe _him_. And Mackenzie will get tossed." Back in control, he put his hands into his pockets, a seemingly casual movement. "It would eliminate Dom's problem, and mine as well."

Lee stepped back, his eyes half-lidded. "No, Tracy. Oh, no. If that happens, your problems will have just _begun. _You and Bertoli will wish you had never set foot on campus this year; that I promise you. I will make your lives pure hell."

There was a heavy silence, then Alan said, almost casually, "Give it your best shot. Dom and I are going Monday." Then he turned his back on his roommate in the small space Lee had left to him and, sliding to the left, opened his closet again to get at his night wear. He was aware of the older teen's pressing proximity, of Lee's breathing practically in his ear, then suddenly, his adversary backed off.

Lee's cold voice sent an uncomfortable tingle down Alan's spine. "So be it."

_

* * *

What will Fermat say? What will Sugi do to Alan? Has A.J. figured things out? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**Sancontoa: **I do like cliffies! They keep people coming back for more. The gossip thing will be seen some next chapter.  
**blue-eyes-magic: **Hope you're still alive out there! Sorry this took so long; I've had major avoidance issues the past week or so. But now the new chapter's here and I hope it's worth the wait!  
**Emerald Queen: **Alan's not coming up with the rumors, as you've just found out. As for what they are; next chapter!  
**Ellie ET: **Yeah, Alan was steamed, but he's apologized. He knows that Fermat's looking out for him and his family.  
**Mae: **Two Maes liking the story? That's quite all right with me!  
**Claudette: **More on the thugs next chapter or so. They're not gone. And you see that Gordon's on his way home and Jeff/John has called Alan to put his mind at ease.  
**lgbabyblu: **We'll just have to see what happens with A.J., won't we? Glad you're enjoying the story!  
**storm05: **Gordon's on his way home to recover, and the Tracys found a way for Alan to "discover" his brother's dilemma without arousing suspicion... we hope. I know all about what A.J.'s like; I created him! LOL! And no offense taken, hun.  
**Lorency: **Yeah, my girl has something against pizza sauce. Don't know what or why. You've seen now what his plans are, and you'll have to wait to see if he gets to carry them out. And you've seen the conversation, too. Thanks for your great review. I love getting thoughtful ones like that.  
**andrewjameswilliams: **Welcome to the crew, Andrew! Glad you like the story!  
**Math Girl: **It _is_ cool to see Jeff in the thick of things, isn't it? And keeping this a secret is a puzzlement. I think Alan's finding school life to be a whole lot more complex (and fun) than he thought it could be, but it's got it's stresses, too. Lou! LOL! Don't know what she'd do at a boys' school! I'm afraid Alan's got to work this out on his own... or with some help from Fermat and his friends.


	15. Unanticipated Dilemma

_Author's note: _Fermat thinks fast. Sugi makes a pre-emptive strike. Fermat takes matters into his own hands, and the group makes plans. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Fermat gaped at his roommate for a moment. "Wh-What do you m-mean, lie to you?" 

A.J. closed his book very deliberately and turned to fully confront the older boy. "I mean about the sports scores. It was an obvious lie to cover up what you were doing. So, why did you lie to me?"

_Oh, no. Hackenbacker, think fast! _Fermat moistened his lips with his tongue. His mind cast back to another tight spot he'd been in, inside the ventilation ducts over the command center, listening to the Hood gloat over Tin-Tin's father and her despair at being the niece of such a villain. Tin-Tin, with her pretty face, her long, black hair, her smooth, tanned skin... he blushed involuntarily, and the answer came to him in a flash.

"Wellll," he began, "I'm s-sorry we l-l-lied to you, A.J. It's j-just that, well, the a-administration kinda frowns on wh-what we were d-doing. We d-didn't want to get into any t-t-trouble."

A.J. folded his arms. "And what were you doing that was so bad? Looking at porn or something?"

"N-Not exactly," Fermat replied, nervously running a finger under his collar. "We were l-looking at... girls." He hastily corrected himself, "Women. We were l-looking at w-women."

His roommate gave him an unbelieving look. "What kind of women? I mean, you said it wasn't porn..."

"It's not!" Fermat's voice squeaked as he defended himself. "But we were l-looking at women--in sw-swimsuits, y'know. L-Lingerie catalogs. Victoria's Secret, th-that sort of th-thing."

Comprehension dawned on A.J. "You mean, like _Sports Illustrated's _swimsuit issue?"

"Yeah," Fermat said in relief. "Like th-that."

"But the swimsuit issue doesn't come out until the spring," A.J. protested.

Now Fermat knew he was on solid ground. "Th-That's true, but it's sp-spring south of the e-equator, y'know. And the w-w-w... girls there are j-just as pr-pr-pr... hot."

"Oh! I see!" A.J. said, looking relieved. "I understand. I promise I won't tell..." Fermat mentally wiped a hand across his brow. "... on one condition."

"What's that?" his roommate asked sharply.

A.J. grinned. "That next time you look at those sites, you let me look, too."

Fermat got up from his chair and offered his hand to A.J., who took it. "D-Deal," he said, shaking hands once. Then he returned to his desk, just in time to hear the warning for lights out. "Uh oh. B-Better get ready for bed."

xxxx

Alan lay on his bed in the darkened room, his hands behind his head, wide awake. His mind was sifting through the confrontation with Sugi, wondering what he could do to head off any reprisals, and hoping that Dom could stay strong enough to see this through.

_I'm sure Belvedere will ask about Fermat, and why I don't ask for a change with A.J. _He grimaced. _As much as it'll kill me to tell her that she was right, I'll have to, but not for Fermat's sake. For A.J.'s. She did the right thing in putting the two of them together. I don't think A.J. wouldn't have made it with anyone else._

_But what do I tell Dad? I was so excited to have Sugi as a roommate at first; he seemed so cool, the big man on campus. Now I've seen another side to him, and I don't like what I see. But Dad was right. I can't let him stomp all over me... and I won't. I'll call home tomorrow and talk to Dad, and to Gords. I want to hear for myself that he's okay._

He rolled over onto his side and his nose wrinkled up. _Ugh. My pillow smells. Sugi didn't do a very good job with all those air and fabric fresheners, and our laundry isn't picked up until Tuesday. I'll have to see what I can do about the smell in the meantime. I wonder if Dom has talked to Trey yet. I hope he has, and I hope that Trey will actually think this is a good idea. Maybe with three of us against him, Sugi will give in._

It took some time, but eventually Alan's mind stopped whirling. He dozed off, but his dreams were filled with smoke and flame and the mocking voice of his roommate breathing unintelligible threats as Alan choked on the poisonous atmosphere.

xxxx

Sunday morning breakfast was usually cereal and milk or juice. Most boys slept in and skipped it, but those who visited the local churches that sent vans to collect them ate there, and today, so did Fermat. He dressed casually so no one would think he was going to church, and picked up his dose of painkiller at the infirmary on the way to breakfast.

He managed to balance his tray on his way out to the nearly empty dining room, glad for once that the milk and juice were in cartons and the cereal in little, individual serving sized boxes. He sat down at an empty table because, even for Sunday, he was early and there were only a few other boys in the echoing chamber.

Opening the boxes of cereal, and one carton of milk to pour on the cinnamon covered squares, proved to be a challenge, but not as difficult as Fermat had feared. The juice and second carton of milk were easy; all he had to do was poke a straw through the hole near the top. He had settled down to eat when he noticed Dom Bertoli come out of the serving area and look around. He tried to signal to the older boy, but his mouth was full of cereal, and he couldn't call. Before he could clear his mouth, Dom had been scooped up by Lee Sugimoto and the two of them sat down at a table halfway across the room from Fermat. He wished he could get up and join them, seeing as they were the only people around he was really acquainted with, but he didn't want to try dragging his tray over and possibly spilling what he had in his bowl. So he set himself to eating and getting out as quickly as he could.

Every so often, he would glance over to the two, who seemed to be having a spirited conversation. Fermat couldn't see Lee's face, but he could see Dom's. The yearbook editor frowned, then shook his head at first. Fermat went back to his food for a moment, and when he looked up again, Dom seemed paler and an expression of concern mixed with fear had crossed his face. _Wonder what that's all about? _he thought.

He took the last bite of his cereal, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and piled his trash on one side of his tray. Moving carefully, he maneuvered the tray up to the disposal units, dealt with the bowl and the spoon, swept the trash off into the can, and handed the tray to the bored cafeteria worker who stood there. He turned, and almost ran right into Lee Sugimoto, who was behind him in line.

"Hey, Hackenbacker," Lee said, his voice holding a touch of sarcasm. "Where's your _special friend_, Tracy?"

Not liking Lee's tone, Fermat responded, "You'd kn-know better than I w-would. You're his r-r-r... you live w-with him."

"Ah, yes," Lee said. "But you were supposed to, weren't you?"

"Yeah. So wh-what?" Fermat responded, raising his chin and glaring at the older boy through his spectacles.

"I have to wonder what the _real _reason was behind Belvedere splitting you two up," Lee sneered. He handed his tray to the bored young man with the white apron and the paper hair cover. "Thanks, Pierce."

"Why is it any of y-your b-business anyway?" the younger boy asked.

"Because I don't want your _special friend _making any moves on me," Lee said, leaning down and getting his face close to Fermat's.

The younger boy's face went white as the implications of the athlete's veiled insult and accusation hit home. It rendered him speechless, gulping air like a fish, and Lee laughed as he left the stunned teen behind.

It took a few moments for Fermat to recover his wits. "That d-damned son-of-a-b-b-b... that b-bastard!" he muttered angrily. "This has g-got to be wh-what Alan was t-talking about y-yesterday."

He took a few purposeful strides toward the athlete, who had gathered a few of his classmates around him just before he got to the exit. But before he could get very far, someone grabbed him by the shoulder from behind.

Fermat whirled, his face furious, dropping instinctively into the defensive half-crouch that Scott had been drilling into his head and body all summer. His assailant took a step back in alarm, and Fermat relaxed as he recognized Dom Bertoli. The older boy still looked pale and his eyes followed Lee as the latter finally left the room.

"Listen, Hackenbacker," Dom said, his voice low and slightly shaky. "If you see Tracy today, tell him I need to talk to him right away, okay? It's really important."

"Sure, D-Dom," Fermat said. He cocked his head. "Are y-you okay? I s-saw you talking with... S-Sugimoto. You s-seemed upset."

Dom sighed, and shook his head. "No, I'm not okay."

"Wh-What did he s-say to you?"

"I'm not telling you. Just Tracy, you got that? Tell him it's important." Dom swallowed heavily and pushed past Fermat. "I've got to get out of here."

"Hey, D-Dom, wait!" Fermat called, moving quickly in Dom's wake. "What's going on?"

But Dom wouldn't wait; he moved faster than Fermat expected for an asthmatic and was out the door and down the front steps before the younger boy could catch him.

Fermat stood on the top of the dining hall steps and watched Dom leave. He shook his head, then remembered Sugi's words and shuddered.

_Time to get Alan out of bed. And not only Alan, but the rest of the guys._

xxxx

Alan woke to the sound of a buzzer going off. _Late! _he thought fuzzily. _I'm going to be late for class! _He reached for his alarm clock and hit it, but the buzzing wouldn't stop. It finally dawned on him that what was wrong; the noise didn't sound like his alarm. _It's Sunday._

"Alan! W-Wake up!" came Fermat's muffled voice from outside.

"What's he doing here so early... oh." Alan looked at his clock, really looked at it, and realized it was after ten. "Come in, Fermat!" he called, his voice still rusty from sleep.

"F-Finally!" The door's lock snicked open, the panel slid aside, and Fermat came in, followed by Qaeshon, Jason, and Ralph.

Alan squinted at them from the top bunk. "What's going on?" he asked, still not quite awake.

"We need to talk, Pinky," Qaeshon said, folding his arms across his chest. "You'd better get dressed."

"Can I get a shower?" Alan asked, pulling back the covers. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped to the floor. Standing, he rubbed his eyes.

"Sure," Jason said, waving a hand. "Shower and get dressed. We'll be out in the common room waiting for you."

"Brain, you stay here, okay?" Qaeshon said. "Make sure Pinky comes right out when he's done."

"S-Sure," Fermat said, sitting in Alan's desk chair, preparing to wait for his friend.

"C'mon, let's go," Ralph said, nudging his roommate. The three retired to the common room, leaving the two friends alone.

"So, what's this all about, Fermat?" Alan asked as he pulled clean clothes from his drawers.

"Y-You'll find out when w-we talk as a gr-group," Fermat replied.

Alan frowned at his friend. "This isn't like you, Fermat."

"I kn-know," the younger boy said, nodding. "I have my r-reasons."

"Oookay," Alan drawled as he headed for the shower. "Be out soon."

The hot water washed the rest of his grogginess away as it washed away the smell of cigarette that he imagined his hair had picked up from his pillow. He took his time, tousling his hair before wrapping his towel around his waist and entering the cooler, drier air of the bedroom.

Fermat turned to him, startled, and Alan was surprised to see him blush and turn away. "G-Get dressed quickly," the bespectacled teen admonished in a strangled voice.

"Fermat, what the hell is the matter?" Alan pressed as he pulled on his briefs. The snap of elastic waistband made the dark-haired boy jump a little, and his friend put a hand out to turn Fermat around.

But Fermat shrugged it off. "Just g-g-g... put your c-clothes on, Alan."

"What is with you?" Alan asked again as he pulled on his jeans. "What's happened?"

"I'll t-tell you wh-when you're d-dressed and we're out of h-h-here," Fermat promised.

Alan quickly finished dressing and ran a comb through his blond hair. "Okay, I'm done. Now what?"

"G-Get your j-jacket. It's still c-c-cool out," Fermat ordered as he got up and headed for the door. Alan couldn't fail to see the relief on his friend's face when informed that Alan was finally dressed.

They left the room, and Alan locked the door behind him. Fermat led the way to the common room where Qaeshon waited for them. "I sent Ralph out to find Dom," the dark boy said. "And Jason said he thought A.J. should be in on this, too, so he's gone to Maplewood to bring the kid along. They'll meet us behind the courts."

"G-Good. Let's g-g-go," was all that Fermat replied.

Alan shot a questioning look at Qaeshon, who shook his head slowly. "Not here, Pinky. And not until everyone is together."

"That bad?"

Qaeshon nodded. "Yeah."

Alan put his hands in his pockets and followed his old roommate as the latter walked briskly toward the outdoor tennis and basketball courts. Waiting for them there was Jason, with a panting A.J.

"Where's R-Ralph?" Fermat asked.

Jason looked over the shoulders of the newcomers and pointed. "Here he comes. Looks like he found Dom, too."

"G-Good," Fermat called. "Over here!"

He and Alan led the way into the woods that edged the outer boundaries of the Wharton campus. Somewhere in the forest was a barbed wire fence that was posted, "No Trespassing" but anything within that fence was considered Wharton property. The boys walked along, Fermat setting a quick pace, while A.J. brought up the rear, looking all around him at the pines which towered above his head.

At last they came to a small clearing that was ringed with the pines, but had once held some mighty oaks. There were oak stumps there, wide and short, and a couple of smaller trunks that had either fallen to make natural benches or had been dragged there by past generations of Wharton students. An old firepit had been dug in the center of the clearing, a pit that still saw use from time to time. The clearing was known only as "The Hollow". It was a place where the young men of Wharton went to be alone, or to have some fun that the administration frowned on, as evidenced by the occasional beer bottle hidden in the empty logs and the cigarette butts that could be found if you knew where to look. The academy's powers-that-be knew of the Hollow, and would sometimes send security out to see what was going on, but for the most part didn't concern themselves with the meeting place.

"Okay, Fermat," Alan said as his friend took up a seat on one of the logs. "Now that we're out here, what the hell is going on?"

Fermat looked up at him with a serious expression on his face. "Y-You tell me, A-Alan."

"I don't know what you mean, Brain," the blond retorted. "Kay says it's something bad..."

"It is," Fermat replied. "And I th-think it h-has something to d-do with those question you a-asked us y-y-y... Saturday." He stood up to pace. "I'll t-tell you what h-happened to m-me this m-m-morning, and you e-explain to me _why_ it h-happened."

"I doubt I can, but knock yourself out." Alan sat down on a stump and waved for Fermat to begin.

The younger boy walked the length of the clearing, then turned to speak. He explained what had happened at breakfast and his meetings with both Lee Sugimoto and with Dom afterwards. Alan glanced around; Dom was white and kept looking his way. A.J.'s jaw had dropped, but the other three boys were either nodding or impassive as Fermat recounted the tale. _They've heard this before, _Alan concluded. _That's why they came with Fermat to get me. He told **them** first! _His hands clenched into fists. _Who the hell does that bastard Sugi think he is, starting a rumor like that! I told him to leave Fermat out of it! I will personally pound him into the ground!_

Fermat finished his tale, and all eyes turned to Alan and Dom. "What's going on Dom? Pinky?" Qaeshon asked, glowering. "Sugimoto's not going to spread a rumor that Pinky and the Brain are gay without a reason."

"What did you do, Alan, to get him that riled up?" Jason asked from where he sat. He glanced over at the yearbook editor. "And you, Dom? What did you do? You barely even know the guy."

Alan glanced over at his co-conspirator, who gazed back with a sick expression on his face. "Do we tell them?" Dom asked.

Alan's eyes moved around from person to person in the little group, then he shrugged. "I guess so." He scratched the back of his neck. "It all started early yesterday afternoon when I came back from the games room..."

As Alan told the story, he was gratified to see the faces on his friends grow angry at Sugi's treatment of him and over the threat the senior posed to both him and to Fermat.

"I'll stomp him into the grass," Ralph said angrily when Alan was through. "I don't care if he's the soccer team captain. He's going to get it and get it good during practice tomorrow."

"Th-That's not going to s-solve anything, and m-might make things w-worse," Fermat said, taking off his glasses and wiping them with a handkerchief he carried. He turned to the other player in the drama. "Wh-What did he say to y-you, Dom?"

Dom shook his head, still pale. "He... He said he'd make my life hell and that I'd wish those guys who beat me up had killed me. He said he would start a rumor that would make me lose my friends, and get me kicked off the yearbook staff if I went along with Tracy's plan or if I breathed a word about Trey's smoking habit." The dark-haired boy held up his palms as he shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? If my parents heard about it, they'd pull me from school." He shook his head. "They're a bit overprotective of me, because of the asthma."

"So, what do we do now?" Jason asked. "We can't let Pinky and the Brain be smeared, or Dom either. And rumors like the one Sugi has already started are hard to stop."

"It doesn't help that you two were split up this year, either," Qaeshon groused. "Makes it look like something fishy's going on."

"But... but they're not, uh, that way," A.J. piped up. "I mean, they look at all those hot girls..."

"Hot girls?" Jason asked, quizzically.

"Hot girls?" Alan mouthed silently to Fermat.

Everyone else turned to look at A.J. in varying measures of surprise, and in Fermat's case, warning. He put a hand to his mouth. "Uh oh," he said softly. Turning to Fermat, who was shaking his head and sighing. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean..."

Fermat waved a hand, irritated. "I kn-know you didn't m-mean it. J-Just... don't m-mention it again, huh?"

"So, you're interested in something other than the Thunderbirds?" Ralph asked Alan slyly. "Found out that life isn't all fast planes and spaceships?"

"Uh, yeah," Alan spluttered. He gave Fermat a look that said, "We'll talk about this later."

"So, back to the problem at hand," Jason said firmly. "What are we going to do about Sugi and his rumors?"

"Sugi's not the only big man on campus," Qaeshon said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Zave is, too. I'll tell him about this smear campaign. He'll believe me over Sugi."

"Yeah, but can you tell him without letting on _why _Sugi's doing this?" Dom asked. "I mean, I'd rather not bring Trey's smoking up to the whole school."

"Did you talk to him about the room swap?" Alan asked.

Dom shook his head. "No, I didn't get a chance to. I feel sorry for him, y'know. Stuck with me and having to worry about whether or not he's going to set off an attack or something."

"Hey, Dom, don't worry about that," Jason said. "Probably half the school already knows about it! It just hasn't reached the ears of the administration yet. And who knows how much of our scuttlebutt they believe anyway."

"I thought that if Trey could be convinced this was a good thing and the three of us ganged up on Sugi, he'd have to go along with it," Alan commented.

"Uh uh," Ralph said, shaking his head. "All four parties have to agree unless there's a pressing need, like the smoking business. If you went to Ms. Belvedere and told her that Trey was smoking, he'd be expelled, and you'd probably have your room to yourself. But that wouldn't solve Pinky's problem, not since Sugi started this rumor."

"I wonder why he started it so soon?" A.J. piped up.

"Wh-What do you m-mean, A.J.?" Fermat asked.

"Well, he threatened to start a rumor _if_ Alan and Dom went to Ms. Belvedere, right?" The other boys nodded, and A.J. continued. "But that hasn't happened yet. So why did he start? He has to have some reason."

Alan stood and folded his arms. "Maybe because I stood up to him. Maybe he wants me to know how serious he is about this." He looked thoughtful for a moment then said slowly, "He did say something about 'all my daddy's money' not being able to stop it." He glanced around at the group. "Do you think that could have something to do with it?"

Qaeshon shrugged. "Who knows? I mean, your dad is really rich, yeah, but you've never flaunted it."

"This is getting us nowhere," Jason complained. "What are we going to _do_ about Sugi? I mean, this rumor is going to catch all of us up in it, too, whether we like it or not."

There was a murmur of assent among the group, then Alan said, "I think one thing we have to do is for Dom andme to go through with this room change request. And if we have to tell Belvedere about Trey's smoking, we will." He looked around at his friends. "I mean, we've already told you all. Any of you could mention it..."

"That's it!" Jason said, cutting off Alan's explanation. "An anonymous tip! One of us could tip off the administration to Trey's smoking!"

The boys all glanced uncomfortably at each other. "Who would do it?" Ralph asked. "And how would we prove it?"

Dom shook his head. "No, if it comes from me, then the administration will believe. After all, I'm his roommate."

"Yeah, but what does that do about the rumor?" Ralph asked. "We need to stop it in its tracks."

"I think Zave can be of help. I'll figure out a way to tell him without involving Trey's habit," Qaeshon said.

"And the r-rest of us have to st-stick t-together," Fermat added. "If w-we let this b-break up our gr-group, then it will b-be like giving cr-cr-cr... like telling people the rumor is tr-true."

There was another uncomfortable silence, then Ralph asked hesitantly, "Uh, just for the record, Pinky, you and the Brain aren't...?"

"NO!" Alan and Fermat shouted in unison.

"Uh, I didn't think so," Ralph muttered as Jason slapped the back of his head.

"So, our plan is for Kay to tell Zave, and maybe lighten up the impact of the rumor that way, while Pinky and Dom go through with their request," Jason said, ticking off the points on his fingers.

"And we stick together," A.J. reminded them.

"Right," Qaeshon answered.

"Would a counter-rumor help?" Ralph asked. "Something nasty about Sugi?"

"I don't want to stoop to his level," Alan said stoutly.

Fermat nodded, "I a-a-agree."

"Well, we can hold that in reserve as a plan B," Jason added. He looked around at their surroundings. "Hey, it's probably nearly lunchtime. We'd better get back."

"You guys go ahead," Alan said. "I need to talk to the Brain here."

Qaeshon frowned at them. "You sure? I mean, we just said we need to stick together."

"I know. We'll catch up," Alan promised.

"Okay, see you at lunch then," Ralph said as he and the others left the pair alone.

When they were out of earshot, Alan turned on Fermat with anger. "Why the hell did you go telling them about this before you told me?"

"B-Because if I d-didn't, you w-would have br-brushed me aside and t-told me nothing about wh-what was going on!" Fermat shot back. "After all, you d-didn't see f-fit to tell m-me your plan! Y-Your f-f-f... your dad was g-going to go to b-bat for us so we c-could room together a-again! Now wh-what's going to h-happen to that? D-Don't you w-want to be my r-roommate again?"

Alan turned away from Fermat, folding his arms. "It has nothing to do with what I want or you want," he said.

"Oh? How do you think that m-makes me feel? My b-best friend doesn't w-want to r-room with me anymore!"

The older boy dropped his arms and spun around to glare Fermat. "You don't get it, do you? Belvedere was right in putting you with A.J. and not with me."

Fermat exploded, flailing his one good arm around, and trying to do the same with the casted one. "Wh-What the hell is that s-supposed to mean?"

The older boy spread his hands out and got close to his friend's face. "It means that _A.J. _needed you, dammit! He needed you or someone like you, to get him acclimated to life here. I want to be your roommate, yes, but it turns out that A.J. needs you more. Would you dump him on someone like Sugi just to room with me?"

This brought Fermat up short. "I s-suppose not," he said sullenly. "B-But when were y-you going to tell me you th-thought it would be b-better for us to stay s-separate? And wh-when do you intend to t-t-t... inform your d-dad?"

Alan sighed. "I was going to talk to him this afternoon, and I would have told you right after that."

"You should have t-told me what your p-plans were before that," Fermat shot back. "After all, you'd a-already made the a-arrangements with D-Dom. Then I m-might have been m-more prepared for wh-what Sugi was t-trying to do."

"Okay, okay," Alan said, putting up his hands in defense of himself. "I agree. I should have told you before this. I was a little preoccupied with Gordon yesterday evening, y'know. But why did you go to Kay, Jase and Ralph first? You should have come straight to me with what Sugi said to you."

"I w-went to them f-first because I kn-knew I would need their h-help to get the whole st-story out of you," the younger boy said, calming down. "And y-you would have r-refused to say anything if it h-had just been m-me c-coming to you. That old T-Tracy pride and self-r-reliance, y'know."

There was quiet between them, and then Alan sighed. "Am I that self-centered?"

Fermat looked at him steadily. "Sometimes. It's not as b-bad as it used to b-be."

It took a few moments, but finally Alan murmured, "I'm sorry, Fermat. I wasn't thinking of your feelings, just of myself and my predicament."

"That's n-not quite true," Fermat replied with a sigh. "You were th-thinking of A.J.--and I w-wasn't. But I st-stand by my d-decision to t-tell the others. W-When Sugi started that r-rumor, they became j-just as involved as we were. And we n-need their help." He put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "You d-don't have to d-do this all by yourself, y'know."

"You're right. I would have tried to take care of it myself. I was _trying_ to take care of it myself and not thinking about our friends. But I didn't expect Sugi to start in so soon." He snorted a laugh. "At least this explains your weird behavior while I was getting dressed."

Fermat blushed. "I d-didn't want a-anyone coming in t-to think the r-rumor might be t-true."

The two boys started back to the main campus, walking single file along the narrow path. "What was that thing about the hot girls?" Alan asked.

"A.J. figured out we were l-lying to him a-about what we were l-looking at b-before he came in, and c-c-c... called me on it." Fermat shrugged. "It was the o-only thing I c-could think of."

"Great," Alan replied sourly. "Now _we_ could get in trouble with the administration."

Fermat smiled and shook his head. "I d-don't think so. He s-said he w-wouldn't tell if we l-let him look, too."

"Yeah, but he's already told," the blond said, his face and voice worried.

The younger boy stopped in the path, and Alan, realizing this, turned around to face him.

"Alan, I trust our friends," Fermat said firmly, his stutter disappearing for once. "Do you?"

Alan thought for a moment, then said quietly, "I guess I'm going to have to, aren't I?" He made a motion with his head toward the campus. "C'mon. I'm hungry."

_

* * *

Will their plan work? What will Alan tell Jeff? Will Dom stick with the plan? Will they squeal on Mackenzie? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**Janet: **Hopefully some of the suspense has been resolved in this chapter.  
**audrey: **Everybody wants me to whump on poor Alan! Not in this chapter.**  
Emerald Queen: **A.J.'s sharp, but Fermat's a little sharper! And Lee could make Alan's life pretty difficult, as we've already seen.**  
Ellie ET: **Bouquets? For me? I blush! I'd like to hurt Lee, but you see, I'm too far away. I've got plans, though. Stick with me.**  
Sancontoa: **I hope this is less of a life-threatening cliffie than the others have been. And it seemed he did have a good roommate, at first.**  
storm05: **Thanks for the good words. Yes, Gordon's recovering, but Alan's troubles are just beginning. **  
Lorency: **Alan's got troubles, but he's also got friends. And as you've seen, his friends are ready to step up to bat for him. Thanks for the good words on the Alan/John conversation. I loved writing the "older brother who is bored with his younger brother's obsession".**  
Sandy at sea: **Thanks for the good words on the story. Alan has lessons to learn and he's taking them pretty well, so far. I'm actually liking him in this story.**  
Virgil's Grl: **Thanks for the compliments. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I don't think that A.J. would believe for a moment that the TBs obsessed Alan _wouldn't _be involved if his brothers were. **  
blue-eyes-magic: **Well, A.J. is this cute nerdy little kid... well, maybe not quite cute... :) And you know a little bit more about how vindictive Sugi can be.**  
Varda's Servant: **Thanks for the compliments. Yeah, I was shocked, too. Still am because now I _like_ writing it. As for how this proposed room switch is going to affect Jeff's plans, that's yet to be seen. And I agree with you on the rescues; the movie needed more of them and of the other Tracy brothers!**  
CrystalSaffron: **Sorry I didn't get to you last time! Yes, Trumbull, as in Trumbull, CT and the man it was most likely named for, John Trumbull of the Connecticut Wits. That Colonial and Revolutionary literature course I took had to come in handy sometime!


	16. Unburdening

_Author's note:_ Lunchtime in the States; breakfast on Tracy Island; two boys, two dads, two calls. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Lunch started off as a blur. Alan and Fermat kept glancing around to see if anyone seemed to be talking about them or giving them strange looks. Finally, Jason rolled his eyes and said, "You two better stop it. I mean, I know that nothing travels faster than rumors, but for Pete's sake! It's been... what? Two hours, maybe three? And it's not like it's a weekday. Most everyone keeps to themselves on weekends, and especially on Sundays." 

Fermat sighed. "You're r-right, Jason. Th-Thanks." He applied himself to his meal.

"Hey, there's Zave," Qaeshon said. He stood up, his arm raised as if to wave his brother over. "Let me see if I can... damn!" He sat down suddenly. "Sugi got to him first."

Alan groaned. "I am going to be so dead tomorrow afternoon," he moaned, shaking his head.

"No, man, you won't," Qaeshon said confidently. "I'll catch him later and see what Sugi said to him, then tell him all the details."

"Are y-you going to call your d-dad, Alan, and t-tell him what's g-going on?" Fermat asked.

Alan nodded. "Yeah, but I'll have to wait until four. That way everyone should be up. I want to talk to Gords especially, see if he's okay."

"What happened?" Jason asked. "Is one of your brothers hurt or something?"

"Well, sort of," Alan explained. "My next-oldest brother, Gordon, got overheated yesterday. But Dad took him to the doctor and he's fine now." He shrugged. "I just like to know for myself."

"How'd he get overheated?" Dom asked, curious.

"We live in the tropics and if you're out too long or you over do when the sun is hot, it's easy to get that way," Alan explained. "Gords must have been out running or something. I'll get the whole story out of him when I call. Do you want in on the call too, Fermat?"

Fermat swallowed a bite, then washed it down with milk before saying, "I th-think I'll c-call my d-dad the same time you c-call yours."

"Do you live together or something?" Dom asked, his face showing more than curiosity now. He was frowning slightly.

Fermat spoke up. "M-My dad is Mr. Tracy's head engineer and d-designer. Mr. T-T-T... Alan's dad likes to k-keep him close so they c-can c-conference whenever they n-need to. So we h-have our own little h-house where the T-T-T... where Alan's family lives. It's more c-c-c... it's easier that way."

"Oh, okay," Dom said slowly.

"It's cool, Dom, really," Alan responded with a weary smile. He looked around the table. "Everybody else finished?"

There were multiple calls of "Yeah" and "I'm good". Qaeshon said, "Just waiting on you, Pinky." The boys began to get up and take their trays out to the tray and dish return. Alan took Fermat's, and the younger boy walked to the exits, his skin crawling as he imagined the eyes of other students watching him, whispering behind his back. When he reached their meeting place, he focused his bespectacled eyes on where his friends had gone and refused to look at the others in the dining hall.

The little group met up with him, all but Qaeshon, who went to the table where his brother sat with Lee Sugimoto and Trey Mackenzie. The others watched him speak to Xavion briefly, though they were too far away to hear what he said, and could see their friend give both of his brother's companions a scowling glare. Then he rejoined them and they left the dining hall.

"The rumor is getting around," Alan growled, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. "That creep at the tray return tried to make a comment."

"P-Pierce?" Fermat asked, as he fell into step with his friend.

"I don't know," Jason said, his red brows almost meeting in a deep frown. "Is that his name?"

"C-Could be," Fermat explained. "That's what S-Sugi c-called the guy on d-duty this m-morning when he first m-made his c-comments."

"Hmm," was all that Jason replied, nodding slowly.

Alan turned to Dom, who was tagging along behind the group. "Hey, Dom, I just wanted to say that regardless of how this all turns out, you're welcome to hang with us whenever you like."

"Thanks, Tracy," Dom replied. "I appreciate it." He glanced to his left. "Right now, I see a couple of my friends waving at me. I'd better go see what they want. Tomorrow at lunch, right?"

"Right," Alan said, a real smile spreading across his face. "We beard the dragon in her den during lunch."

"Good stuff. See you all later." Dom gave them a wave, and the boys responded with goodbyes as he walked off to meet his friends.

"It's a lion, Alan," A.J. piped up.

"What's a lion?" Alan asked.

"What you beard in a den. A lion."

"A.J., my man, have you ever _met_ Ms. Belvedere?" the older boy asked jocularly. He started putting a conspiratorial arm around A.J. but thought better of it.

The younger boy frowned in concentration. "No, I don't think I have."

"Well, I have, so you can take it from me, _dragon_ is the operative word here."

"Okay," A.J. said, rolling his eyes. "I'll take your word for it."

His comment made Alan laugh, and for the first time all day, some of the tight ball of worry and apprehension in Alan's stomach eased.

xxxx

"Good morning, Dad," Scott said as he came to the breakfast table. "Hi, Onaha!"

"Good morning, Scott," Jeff replied absently as he read his morning paper.

"And a good morning to you, too, Scott. What kind of juice would you like?" the housekeeper asked with a smile as she put a cup of black coffee down beside him.

"Oh, just good old o.j. will do, Onaha."

"I'll refill the pitcher then," she replied as she poured the last of the orange juice from the glass carafe into Scott's empty cup. "Be right back."

Scott reached across to snag two biscuits from the platter in the center of the table. He began to butter one as Onaha came out again, the carafe filled to the rim with freshly squeezed orange juice.

"I have scrambled eggs, small sausages and bacon this morning, Scott," she said as she filled his juice glass again.

"Sounds great, Onaha. Some of everything, please," he replied before taking a big bite out of the fluffy biscuit. The housekeeper nodded, and went off to dish up his breakfast.

"So, Dad. Has anyone heard from the sprout this morning?" Scott asked between bites.

"Not yet," Jeff answered, putting down his paper. "John spoke with both him and Fermat yesterday, though, so they know about Gordon." He chuckled. "Seems John has a fan in Fermat's roommate."

"Why?" Scott asked, a puzzled look on his face. After a moment's thought, comprehension dawned. "Oh! The books!" He shook his head. "Sometimes I forget that John's got a life outside of the island."

"He does?" Virgil asked as he came into the dining room. "What life?" He sat down and asked Scott to pass him the orange juice.

"As a popular author," Scott replied, buttering his second biscuit. He popped it in his mouth and held it there while he passed the juice to Virgil, then bit down on it, catching the remainder before it hit his lap.

"Ohhh, yeah. That life," Virgil said sagely as he poured juice for himself.

Onaha came in at that moment to bring Scott his plate. "John's books are very good," she commented. "I've read every one, more than once, and learned something new every time." Turning to Virgil, she repeated the menu, and Virgil decided to pass on the sausages. She smiled at him, poured him a cup of coffee, and went back to the kitchen.

"I expect we'll hear from Alan this morning," Jeff said, returning to the previous topic. "He'll want to talk to Gordon himself."

There was movement at the dining room door, and Jeff smiled as he saw Gordon, followed closely by Brains, come into the room.

"Should you be out of bed?" he asked, rising to give his still pale son some support.

"It's o-o-okay, Mr. T-Tracy," Brains said. "G-Gordon was hungry a-and it didn't seem r-r-r... it didn't seem fair for h-him to be a-alone in the s-sick room."

"Besides," Gordon said dully as he sat down at his place. "I was getting bored."

"And no one wants a bored Gordon, Dad," Virgil quipped. "That's when he comes up with his most inspired pranks."

"All right, son. If Brains says it's okay for you to be up and about, that's fine with me. But I do expect you to rest for most of the day," Jeff admonished, sitting back down again. "Eat breakfast, then you can wait until Alan calls, as he's bound to do. After that, back to the sick room you go."

"Do I have to stay in the sick room?" Gordon asked petulantly, as Virgil poured him some orange juice. "I'd sleep better in my own bed." As an aside, he thanked Virgil for pouring the juice.

The two older men exchanged glances, and Brains nodded fractionally. Jeff smiled. "I guess you can rest in your own room, as long as that's all you're doing in there: resting."

Gordon smiled wanly. "Thanks, Dad."

Onaha came out with Virgil's plate and took orders for Brains and Gordon, clucking her tongue over the latter's still pale complexion. She disappeared into the kitchen again, and Kyrano appeared.

"Good morning, Kyrano," Jeff said, smiling. He took a sip of his coffee and asked, "What have you been up to?"

"Cleaning out the pool, Mr. Tracy. We had some wind last night and there were several large palm fronds in both levels," Kyrano explained. "I pulled the bigger pieces out; the filters should take care of the smaller bits."

"Sounds good." Jeff looked at his watch. "Onaha? One more cup of coffee, please. I'll take it to my office." He turned to look at his second youngest. "Join me up there when you're through, Gordon. I expect Alan will want to talk to you. So will John when he checks in this morning."

Gordon, his mouth full of biscuit, nodded. Onaha filled Jeff's cup again, and he rose from the table. "Thank you, Onaha. Breakfast was delicious, as always. Scott, Virgil, maintenance on One and Two. I'll be down later to help. Gordon, in my office as soon as you're done. Brains, see me in a couple of hours. I want to discuss some modifications to the Firefly. Good morning, all."

Jeff strode off, leaving the rest of his family to finish their breakfast.

xxxx

The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag as Alan waited for four o'clock to roll around. Four was the earliest time he could call home and find his father in his office. Any earlier and he would interrupt breakfast on the island. He could call later in the afternoon, and often did, but today he wanted to speak to his father as soon as possible.

He tried to focus on his homework, picking up his books and taking them to the common room to work so he wouldn't encounter his roommate, but between his own worries and the baseball game that some of the other students were watching, he didn't get much done. Instead, he gathered the thoughts and arguments he wanted to present to his father. He was sure that his dad would understand about the room switch, but he also wanted Jeff to come out and visit him at school. He wasn't quite sure if he could convince his father to stay out of the whole mess with Sugi, but he had to try.

Finally, it was four o'clock, and Alan headed out to the same spot where he had rested during his last call home. There were more of the golden leaves cluttering up the still green grass despite the best efforts of the grounds crew and their blowers. He brushed a few stray leaves aside, sat on the moist lawn, and opened up his phone, plugging in the earpiece so he could speak with relative privacy. Then he speed-dialed his home phone.

Two rings, and the phone was answered by Jeff.

"Hey, Alan! How's it going?"

Alan mustered up a smile. "It's okay, Dad. How are things there? How's Gordon?"

"You can ask him yourself," Jeff said, reaching out to adjust the camera so it was pointing at Gordon.

Alan felt both relief and concern when he saw his closest brother. Gordon's complexion was paler than he remembered, and his brother's short-cropped, dark hair stood out against his skin. Gordon raised a hand in greeting and said, "Hey, Al."

"Hey, Gords," Alan replied, smiling and trying to sound upbeat. "How're you doing? I heard you got a little 'overheated'. What went down?"

"I got a little too up close and personal with the heat of a forest fire. But I'm okay, just still feeling a little wrung out. The doctor said I needed more rest and plenty of fluids, that's all," Gordon replied. "How's life in the wilds of Massachusetts?"

"It's okay," Alan said, his concern easing as he heard his brother admit that he needed rest. "I made the track team."

"So I've heard," Gordon said, a real smile lighting up his face. "I want to come out and see you at a meet sometime." He glanced over at his father. "If Dad will let us come."

Jeff said something off-screen and Gordon nodded. "Dad says we'll make arrangements once he gets the schedule of meets." He pointed a finger at Alan. "Better send it soon."

"In the email as soon as I get it myself," Alan promised. He sighed. "I think I'd better talk to Dad now. I'm glad to see that you're okay, Gords. I was really worried."

"Ah, relax, will ya?" Gordon drawled. "A couple days of rest and I'll be my old self." He glanced over at Jeff again. "Yes, sir." Turning so his eyes were back on the screen where Alan's picture rested, he said regretfully, "Now that I've talked to both you and John, I've been ordered to bed. I'll talk to you again soon, Sprout."

"Yeah, later 'Minnow'," Alan said with a smirk. Gordon glared at him, and stuck out his tongue, then the camera's focus changed back to Jeff. There was movement in the background as Gordon left the room, then it was just father and youngest son.

"So, everything's going smoothly?" Jeff asked.

Alan glanced away, then sighed. "Not exactly, Dad." He told his father about the situation with his roommate and his roommate's friend, and what he planned to do about it.

"Alan, what he's doing is harassment," Jeff said, a scowl on his face. "He needs to be reported. So does this other boy, because he's breaking the rules."

"Dad," Alan said, trying to reason with his father. "I know what Sugi's doing, and Mackenzie, too. But I have to take care of this myself, in my own way." He looked down then back up to meet his father's eyes again. "You're not always going to be there to fight my battles for me. I need to learn to fight them myself, and not always with my fists." He shrugged. "Besides, I'm not in this alone anyway. My friends are going to help."

A corner of Jeff's mouth went up in a small smile as he listened to his son. _Damn, but the boy is growing up. And making me proud in the bargain. _He nodded, then said, "Okay, Alan. I won't interfere. Not unless it gets out of hand. I'm going to trust you to not let it get that way, _and_ to tell me truthfully if it does. But I want you to remember that there's another person involved in this: Fermat. You need to keep an eye on how this situation develops with him, too. In a way, he's more vulnerable than you are, and I don't want you so busy dealing with your own problems that you can't stand up for him when he needs it."

"I'll keep an eye on him, Dad. I promise," Alan said, relieved. "I'm glad you understand why I'm going to ask for this transfer. A.J. needs someone like Fermat as a roommate. They're two of a kind in a way."

"So I gather." Jeff smiled for real this time. "I guess this means I don't have to come out and speak to the board of directors next month."

"No, you don't _have_ to, even if I _don't _get my room assignment switched. But I'd still like you to come and visit," Alan replied. "Come out and watch me in a meet, or come for no reason at all. I miss you guys."

"And we... I miss you, too, son," Jeff admitted. "You send me a list of your meets and I'll make arrangements, okay?" He leaned forward, as if imparting some big secret. "Maybe we'll even bring John down for the occasion."

Alan grinned. "That'd be cool, Dad! And come more than once, okay? That way everyone can see me in action!"

"All right, Alan," Jeff said with a laugh. "We'll plan on more than one visit." He paused for a moment, then asked, "What do you want me to tell Brains?"

Alan moistened his lips with his tongue. "I think Fermat's supposed to call his dad and explain the situation. At least, that's what he said he'd do." He looked at his wristwatch communicator. "He said he'd call at the same time I called you."

"Okay. Brains and I will get together and compare notes." Jeff glanced at his own watch. "I'd better sign off, son. Get me that schedule as soon as you can. And call me after you talk to Mrs. Belvedere and know if you've gotten your room changed."

"I will, Dad," Alan affirmed again. "Love you, Dad. Talk to you later."

"Same here, Alan," Jeff replied, smiling. _That's twice he's said it. _"Bye for now."

"Bye."

The connection was broken, and Alan smiled. It actually felt good to tell his father that he loved him and missed him. And it felt even better to know he was loved and missed. _I guess things are getting better between us. _He put his phone in his jacket pocket and rose to his feet, brushing dirt off of the seat of his jeans. _Better get back and finish up my homework. I hope Fermat's call to his dad goes as well as mine did._

xxxx

Fermat glanced over at his roommate, who was playing spider solitaire on his own computer. He wanted more privacy to talk with his father, but didn't feel comfortable asking A.J. to leave. The year before, privacy hadn't been a problem. Alan had understood.

_I guess I'd better find someplace else, _Fermat thought. He pulled his phone from his desk, plugging the earpiece in while he had the desk top to work with, then told A.J. he'd be back soon. The younger boy glanced up, nodded, and went back to his game.

He walked down to the stairwell at one end of the hall. There were two, one at either end. The narrow stairs zigzagged as they rose, with a landing halfway between each floor. One window per landing meant that the stairwell was rather dark, and the wooden steps had been worn down in the center by decades of passing feet. The steps also went up a half-flight beyond the third floor, to a dead end. There was a trap door there that went up to the crawl space just beneath the roof, and from that point there was access to the rooftop itself. But Fermat wasn't interested in going up quite that high. The dead end itself was the spot he was making for.

The wooden floor was free of dust, as the janitorial staff was charged to keep that area as clean as the other landings. He sat down cross-legged before the window so that the light from without would shine on him, and called his father.

Brains had retired to the lab after breakfast, intending to anticipate Jeff's request about modifications to the Firefly. When his phone rang, he was deep into studying the plans of the vehicle, and didn't notice it at first. But at last the strident ring (he had never been able to decide on a musical ringtone) drew his attention and he picked up the device, flipping it open. The word "Fermat" blinked on his screen, and he smiled, then pulled out his own earpiece to answer the call.

"H-Hey, Dad!" Fermat said, smiling to see his father.

"H-Hey, F-F-F... son. How are y-you?"

"F-F-F... I'm okay, D-Dad. You?"

"F-Fine, son." Brains cocked his head to one side a bit. "Y-You look a bit t-troubled."

Fermat sighed. "I am, D-Dad. There's something g-going on here you should kn-know about."

When he was done unburdening himself about the situation with Alan's current roommate, Fermat said sadly, "Alan d-didn't even a-ask if it was o-okay with me, D-Dad. He just w-went and m-made these arrangements and t-told me after the f-f-f... afterwards, and only wh-when I c-c-confronted him about it." He dropped his eyes and sighed again. "He a-apologized but it still b-bothers me."

"I c-can understand that," Brains said, nodding his head. "What d-do you intend to d-do about it, son?"

The boy shook his head. "I d-don't know, Dad. I guess s-support Alan in what he's t-trying to do. And do my b-best to ignore the r-rumors."

"I think y-you should r-report this S-Sugi character for h-harassing you," Brains said solemnly. "There's n-not much you can d-do about the roommate situation, though. Y-You'll have to let A-Alan handle that."

"B-But what do I t-tell the administrators if they a-ask me why S-Sugi is spreading this r-rumor?" Fermat cried. "B-Besides, it's m-my word against h-his," he added, looking down. "He's a 'b-big man on c-campus'. I'm n-not."

"His c-comment was w-witnessed by that k-kitchen worker," Brains reminded his son. "H-He could b-back you up."

Fermat shook his head. "No. Sugi seemed to b-be pretty ch-ch-ch... friendly with him. H-He even knew the g-guy's name."

"But the k-kitchen worker m-made a comment to y-your friends," Brains said, trying to come up with some way to get Fermat to go to the administration. "That's h-harassment, too."

Fermat shrugged. "I d-didn't hear that, and it d-doesn't prove that Sugi s-started the rumor." He gave his father a pleading look. "Let's ch-change the subject, huh?"

"O-Okay," Brains said, still unhappy with his son's predicament. "I guess I w-won't be coming to t-talk to the administration about ch-ch-ch... you moving in with Alan, w-will I?"

"N-No," the boy answered. "But will you c-come see me for a quiz t-team meet? We s-start practice tomorrow after classes."

"I'll see what I can d-do," the engineer said, removing his glasses to clean them and squinting at the small screen as a result. He put his glasses back on and asked, "How d-do you practice for qu-quiz team?"

"We're going to g-go over the f-format and the r-rules, and p-practice how we're s-supposed to r-respond to a question," Fermat replied, smiling a little. "And D-Devdan will select who is m-most likely to answer a c-certain type of question. For example, I'm b-better at m-math and science, but someone else would be b-better at languages or literature."

"Ah! I s-see," Brains responded. "You'll answer the qu-questions according to your st-strengths."

His son nodded, and Brains smiled. He noticed that the picture of Fermat was getting darker. "S-Son, I think we'd b-better say goodbye now. The light is failing on y-your end. S-Send me the schedule of meets and I'll s-see what I can d-do about coming to one."

Fermat looked up and noticed that his father was correct. "O-Okay, Dad. I'll email the schedule wh-when I g-get it. I hope you can c-come."

"I'll t-try my best," the father said with a wider smile. "Now, g-get back to your r-room and r-remember what I said about this Sugi character. H-He's harassing you and should be r-r-r... you should tell."

"I'll r-remember, but I d-don't think there's m-much I can d-do," Fermat said glumly.

They were quiet for a moment, then Brains said, "And son?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"I l-love you."

Fermat smiled. "I l-love you, too, Dad. T-Talk to you later."

"Right. Bye for n-now."

"G-Goodbye."

The screen went blank, and Fermat groaned as he got off the hardwood floor. He took his earpiece out and wrapped the cord around the folded phone, then wearily plodded back down to his floor.

Brains contemplated the blank screen for a few minutes, lightly biting his thumbnail. Then he picked up the plans for the Firefly and headed up to Jeff's office. He had a lot to talk over with the Tracy patriarch.

_

* * *

What will Jeff and Brains have to say to each other? Will Alan get his room changed? How will the respective practices go? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**Sancontoa: **No cliffie this time! You didn't see the Thunderbirds this chapter, but more of the rest of the Tracys. Yes, there will be more of the Thunderbirds, just not quite yet. No rescue plot bunnies have hit.  
**LoLLy: **Well, you know a little bit more of what's going on. Isn't it great when friends stick together?  
**Sandy at Sea: **I'm glad you're enjoying this so much. The plot will continue to thicken, but I'll keep the pot boiling so it doesn't become too thick!  
**buann: **Thanks for the compliments on the story. Yes, Sugi and his friends have short fuses, but what they're going to do remains to be seen.  
**Lorency: **Yes, a nasty rumor and one that may test friendships as well. Thinking about someone other than himself is a mark that Alan is growing up, as his father is pleased to see.  
**Emerald Queen: **Sugi's got a nasty mind, and we'll see how much farther he intends to go to get his way. What Fermat and Alan really think of Miss Belegant has yet to be seen, but I do think that Fermat is a little sweet on her. And even at age 12, boys are beginning to think of women as... women. As you said, a very male reaction.  
**CrystalSaffron: **I'll be interested in seeing how this all turns out, too. I have an idea of where I'm going; half the fun is getting there!  
**pkw: **"F-A-B" is really sort of short for "Fabulous" and was a hip term of the 1960s, when Thunderbirds was first broadcast. The Thunderbirds use it instead of "Roger" or "acknowledged".  
**Math Girl: **Three chapters at once! As far as the security issues are concerned, the Tracys did wear their helmets (as in the first rescue in the movie, more like motorcycle helmets than anything else) to disguise themselves as they walked from TB2 to the hospital. And the reason Jeff wanted Virgil to bring TB2 in close to pick up Gordon was to minimize exposure. I'm glad you like the dialogue and the real feeling of the friendship (you of all people should know if I'm getting the dialogue right). As far as reporting Sugi for harassment, the school, being private, doesn't have a "resource officer" _per se_. They have security people, but no one with the clout of an officer of the law. We'll see what the boys do as far as Sugi's bullying is concerned; Fermat has more cause to complain, as his father has sagely told him.  
**Ellie ET: **Sorry it took so long, hon, but the muse only works on one story at a time sometimes, and the _Overtures_ muse has been a bit more awake lately. Had to shake this story's muse and roll her out of bed! And I'm cheering for Fermat, too!


	17. Unanimous Decision

_Author's note: _Strategic talks. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Reviewer responses at the end.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff looked up as Brains came into his office. "Hello again, Brains." 

"H-Hello, Mr. T-Tracy," the engineer answered. He took a seat across the desk from his employer. "I j-just talked to F-Fermat."

Jeff nodded. "And I've talked to Alan. Did Fermat tell you what Alan's plans were?"

"Y-Yes, he did." Brains adjusted his blue rimmed glasses, and rolled his shoulders a bit before looking over at Jeff. "H-He's upset that Alan d-didn't consult him first."

Jeff frowned. "Hmm. Alan didn't tell me that. I thought he would have."

"I a-a-a... agree," Brains said, nodding slightly.

Jeff adjusted himself in his chair. "What else did Fermat tell you?"

"Well," Brains began, and the fathers began to compare notes about the situation at Wharton. When they were done, Brains said, "I t-t-t... said to F-Fermat that he should r-report this S-Sugimoto character for h-h-harassment."

"And I said the same thing to Alan," Jeff said, a rueful look on his face. He sat back in his chair, propping one ankle on the other knee. "But I promised I wouldn't interfere. Alan is eager to prove that he can take care of these kinds of problems himself, and without using his fists."

"Fermat t-told me that A-Alan did apologize for not c-consulting him, and he's g-going to support Alan's decision."

"That's good to know," Jeff replied, nodding. "Alan said that now he thinks it's a good idea that the two of them were separated. He tells me that Fermat's roommate needed someone like your son."

Brains smiled. "Y-Yes. I've t-talked to A.J. o-over the phone. He seems v-very much like F-F-F... my son was last y- year." He gave Jeff a keen glance. "The b-boys are g-growing up. And g-growing apart in s-s-some ways."

Jeff nodded again. "They are." He sighed. "I'm beginning to wish I hadn't promised to stay out of it."

"I d-didn't."

"Would you?" Jeff asked, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with one hand.

The scientist thought a moment before speaking. "L-Let's see h-how things go with A-Alan's interview with Ms. B-Belvedere. Then d-decide."

"Good idea." Jeff smiled. "So, do you need some time off to see Fermat in one of his quiz meets?"

Brains chuckled. "H-How did you know?"

"Because I'm going to take some time and go to a couple of Alan's track meets," Jeff said emphatically. "Alan's going to send me his schedule once he gets it. When Fermat gives you his, we can compare them and plan a couple of weekends."

"S-Sounds good," Brains replied, nodding vigorously. He pulled out a data pad. "N-Now, about those modifications to the F-Firefly..."

Jeff sat up and the two men began to discuss how to provide more shielding to the dicetyline cannon operator.

xxxx

"Hey, Pinky!" Alan jumped as someone put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at Qaeshon, who had found him in Chetwood's common room. He was trying to finish his homework, the sounds of his favorite group filling his earphones, drowning out the noise of the football game. He pulled the 'phones off and turned off his mini-player.

"What's up, Kay?" he asked.

"Can you sign yourself out?" his friend asked.

Alan shook his head. "No, 'fraid not." As a security precaution, Jeff had stipulated that the only people who Alan could travel with were his family, Lady Penelope, Parker, Kyrano, or Brains. Otherwise, neither he nor Fermat were allowed to leave campus. _Though that will change when the track meets begin._

"Damn," Qaeshon said, frustrated. "Zave was willing to take us out to the burger joint downtown. I especially asked if you and the Brain could come so we could talk to him about what Sugi was doing."

"Didn't you tell him?" Alan asked, frowning.

"Yeah, I did," Qaeshon replied. "Sugi didn't tell him anything. Didn't want to get caught spreading the rumor and have it traced back to him, I s'pose."

"Yeah. Zave's a straight up..." Alan shook his head. "I mean, Zave is cool. He's honest. Damn!" he swore in disgust. "I feel like even the words I say sound like there's some kind of double meaning crap."

The dark-skinned boy made a face. "Yeah, that stinks. Listen, I'm going to ask Zave if we can get pizza and eat in the Birchwood common room, or my room or somewhere. The snack shop would be too crowded tonight."

Alan nodded. The dining hall provided a cold sandwich buffet for the boys on Sunday evenings; it was relatively easy to set up and clean up. But it wasn't popular, and most students repaired to the snack shop for their choice of junk food.

"I can bring some soda and chips," he offered.

"That's cool. Meet me over at Birchwood in twenty minutes, okay?" Qaeshon ordered. "We need a strategy meeting."

Alan laughed and saluted. "Yes sir! On my way, sir!" He paused and asked, "What about Fermat?"

"Hmm. Can you get him? A.J., too? I'll take care of Ralph and Jason."

"Sure, no problem." Alan began to gather up his books.

Qaeshon started to leave, then suddenly he turned around again. "Hey, Pinky? Anything in particular you like on your pizza?"

"I'm cool with everything but olives," Alan replied. "And Fermat loves anchovies."

"Anchovies? Blech!" the other boy said in disgust, making a face.

"Hey, he says they're fish, so they're brain food."

Qaeshon shook his head. "Man, if I had to eat anchovies to get smart, I'd rather stay dumb!"

Alan laughed again, and waved as his friend hurried off. Walking down the hall, his steps slowed as he came to his room. He wasn't sure if Sugi was there or not, and he'd rather spend as little time as possible with his roommate. _Soon to be ex-roommate. I have to believe that. _He knocked on the door and received no answer, so he unlocked it with the palm scanner and walked in.

The bathroom door was closed, and there was the sound of water running within.

_Good, he's in the shower. Maybe I can get what I need and get out of here before he finishes. _Alan piled his books neatly on his desk, putting his current homework on top so he would remember it. He put his music player and earphones in one of his desk drawers, the one that had a thumbprint lock. Then he grabbed his backpack, pulled out his notebooks and laid those on his desk chair. He ran through the people who should be at the "strategy meeting" and pulled eight cans of soda from the little fridge. It nearly depleted his stash, but he could count on Fermat to give him a couple of cans until he could sit down and place an online order with a local supermarket, one that made deliveries to the Wharton students. At the beginning of the previous year, he had gone hog wild with the account his father had set up for him at that store, but about three weeks before spring break the money had run out and his father refused to give him any more.

"Consider it a lesson in budgeting, Alan," Jeff had said. It was a lesson he had learned, or hoped he had. He had also found he'd gained a bit of weight, and not weight due to growth, either. It had taken time to work off that little soda pop belly, and he swore he'd never do that again!

He added a bag of spicy tortilla chips to his book bag, oblivious to the fact that the water had stopped until the bathroom door opened and spilled steam into the living quarters. Alan turned and straightened as Sugi, a towel wrapped around his waist, walked out.

"Got a hot date with your _special friend_?" the older boy sneered. "I expect he's told you what's going around the school."

"Yes, _and_ who started it," Alan replied coolly. He closed up the backpack and hefted it over one shoulder. "Don't think it will stop me from going to Belvedere."

"It wouldn't matter now if you did or didn't, would it? The rumor's going around, and you know what they say about scuttlebutt. Faster than light." He moved over to his closet. "This is just a taste of what's going to happen if Trey gets booted. And I have plans for Dom, too, don't you worry."

"I won't," Alan replied curtly. He made a wide berth around Sugi as he walked to the door.

Sugi started to say something else, but Alan hurried out into the hallway. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then left to find Fermat and A.J.

xxxx

The group of friends, plus Qaeshon's older brother, sat on the floor in Qaeshon's room. His roommate went off to watch TV in the common room after accepting a slice of pizza. Xavion took a gulp of soda and asked, "So, Pinky. What's going down with Sugi?"

Alan sighed. He wanted to tell the older boy about Trey, but didn't know how approach the subject. "Let's just say that he and I have had a big argument, and I want out. I've made plans to see if I can switch rooms with Trey Mackenzie, and move in with Dom Bertoli, and Sugi is not happy. He's threatened to make my life, and Dom's, a living hell."

"But why Trey?" Xavion pressed.

Alan looked toward his other friends. Fermat nodded, and Qaeshon said, "Tell him, Pinky."

Shaking his head, he replied, "I... I can't."

"If you don't, I will," Qaeshon warned.

"Is this about Trey's smoking?" Xavion suddenly asked.

"Yeah!" Alan responded, puzzled. "How'd you know?"

Xavion huffed out a breath and looked down. "It's only the worst kept secret in our group of friends."

"Did you know that Sugi's letting Trey smoke in his and Pinky's room?" Qaeshon asked in a challenging tone.

The senior shook his head. "No. But it doesn't surprise me. Trey and Sugi are pretty tight." He took a bite of pepperoni pizza and chewed on it. "We all know that Trey smokes, but none of us is willing to rat on him, y'know? With us, it's... I dunno... kinda 'one for all and all for one'. We all watch each other's backs. To turn him in would be betrayal, and whoever did it would lose his status."

"In other words," piped up Ralph, "whoever ratted on Mackenzie would be shunned. They'd be tossed from the group. And considering that your group is the cool one, that'd be a blow."

"You s-sound like you kn-know all about it," Fermat said.

Ralph shrugged. "It was that way at my old middle school. The popular kids had their own little group, and almost everyone wanted to be part of it." He picked up a piece of pizza and took a bite. Through his chewing, he said, "Sugi's been including me in his group more and more, too. It makes me feel special, like I belong with the elite." He paused to sip his soda and wash down the food. "I didn't know about Mackenzie, though."

"I _don't _get it," A.J. piped up, a frown on his face. "If he's doing something wrong, why doesn't anybody speak up?"

"Because he's part of the group, kid," Xavion replied. "You don't rat on your friends." He paused, sitting back against the bunk beds and looking up at the ceiling. Licking his lips, he glanced over at Alan. "Listen, Pinky. If it's worth anything, Sugi didn't tell me this rumor, and even if he did, I wouldn't believe it. I don't know you very well yet, but... my brother does. If he tells me you and Fermat are cool, I believe him."

"Thanks, Zave. It's worth a lot, and I really appreciate it," Alan said gratefully.

The older boy jabbed a finger in Alan's direction. "Don't think for a minute, though, that I'm not gonna bust your butt at track practice!"

The group laughed, and Alan replied, "Not even for a second, Zave."

There was a general silence as the boys turned their attention back to the food, a silence broken by Xavion again. His face was thoughtful and he looked down into his can of soda as he spoke.

"Tell the truth, Pinky, I think something's up with Sugi. He's... He's not the same guy he was last year. He gets angry quicker, and is more sarcastic. He'll make fun of people at the drop of a hat. No one says anything though." He took a deep draught of his soda, emptying it of the last drop, then crushed it in his hand. "I suppose I should say something."

"To who?" Jason asked. "To him?"

This brought the senior up short. "I guess so. I was thinking of talking to the others, telling them all that I don't like what Sugi's doing." He shrugged. "But that's hard to do. It's a lot easier to just keep quiet and say nothing."

" 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing'," A.J. intoned. He blushed as everyone looked at him with varying degrees of curiosity or incredulity. "I, uh, heard it in a history class last year, I think. I can't remember who said it, though."

"B-Burke," Fermat said, nodding. "It's a-attributed to Edmund B-Burke." He glanced around at the other boys, whose expressions now ranged from open-mouthed shock to eye-rolling I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that. "What? What?" he asked, indignant. "Just b-because I r-r-r... don't forget what I r-read..."

"That's why we call you the Brain," Qaeshon said, shaking his head. "I can hardly wait to see you in quiz team. You and Dev are going to kick butt."

"Exactly how do you 'kick butt' in academic quiz?" Jason quipped.

The train of conversation, now totally derailed, degenerated into various smaller conversations and joking. As the last piece of pizza was eaten, and the last chip crumbs were shaken out of the bag, Alan said, "Well, we haven't talked much about strategy, have we?"

Ralph shook his head while chewing on his pizza crust. His mouth finally empty, he replied, "No, we haven't. What should we do? What should our strategy be?"

"I think we need to show that we don't believe the rumor," Qaeshon said. "Stand behind Pinky and the Brain while this whole thing is going down."

"Yeah, and behind Dom, too," Alan added. "He's going to be harassed just as much as I am."

"D-Do we tell the administration about T-Trey?" Fermat asked.

The room fell silent, and each of the younger boys looked toward the oldest. Xavion glanced around at the expectant faces and sighed.

"I... I'd rather you didn't. Trey's a good guy, he really is, once you get to know him, and I know he's gone out of his way to make sure he doesn't smoke or anything around Dom. I bet that if he was asked if he wanted to change rooms with you, Pinky, he would be okay with it."

"The way Dom and I have left it is that telling Ms. Belvedere would be a last resort," Alan explained. "Besides, getting Trey kicked out of school would help Dom, and would keep my room from smelling like a cigarette butt, but I'd still have to deal with Sugi."

"M-My dad says I sh-should report Sugi for h-harassment," Fermat said quietly.

Alan nodded. "My dad said so, too." He turned to the older boy. "What do you think, Zave?"

Xavion scratched his head. "I don't know, Pinky, I..."

Qaeshon cut him off. "What would you tell _me_ to do if I were in the same situation?"

The elder glared at the younger for a moment. "I guess I'd tell you to nail his butt to the wall, and that if you didn't, I'd do it for you." He turned back to Alan and Fermat. "Whether or not you report him is up to you. If he goes around spreading the rumor in my hearing, I'll go as a witness. But it's hard to track a rumor back to its source. And Brain? It would be your word against his. He could always say he'd heard it somewhere else."

"I kn-know," Fermat admitted. "I told my d-dad that, t-t-t... also."

"So," Jason summed up. "We stick with Pinky and the Brain, let people know that they're still our friends and we counter the rumor wherever we can. We leave Trey for Dom and Alan to decide and don't rat him out ourselves. What else can we do?"

"I'll have a talk with Sugi myself," Xavion said. "Try to find out why he's acting this way."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Qaeshon said. He looked at his watch. "We'd better clean up and you guys had better clear out. It's getting late."

"You n-need a place to st-stay tonight, Alan?" Fermat asked. He glanced over at his roommate, who nodded. "You c-can stay with us."

Alan shook his head. "Thanks, Fermat, A.J., but I think I'd better sleep in my own bed tonight. Hopefully it will be the last night I sleep there."

"O-Okay," Fermat replied. He levered himself off the floor, a difficult feat with only one hand.

The boys took that as their signal to wrap things up. They collected all the trash, and Ralph offered to make the run down to the dumpsters with the bag. They picked up the larger chip crumbs but Qaeshon said that he'd vacuum the next day. They started to say their goodbyes and thank yous, then all but the brothers left.

Once outside the building, Jason and Ralph started off to their dorm, waving goodbye to Alan. Fermat and A.J. lingered a bit.

"Y-You sure you'll b-be all right?" Fermat asked, a concerned frown on his face.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," his friend answered. He motioned with his head in the direction that Ralph and Jason had taken. "You two had better get back to your dorm. I'll see you for breakfast."

"R-Right. Breakfast." Fermat patted Alan on the upper arm then he and A.J. turned to follow the other two. Alan put his hands in his jacket pockets and started off in the opposite direction, walking slowly and reluctantly back toward Chetwood.

_

* * *

Will Alan get his room changed? How will the respective practices go? How will the team react to the rumor? Can Alan stand up to Sugi? Will Brains intervene? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_

Now for my reviewers:

**Sancontoa: **Thanks for the compliments! We'll see how far the rumor has spread next chapter.**  
Spense: **Thanks for all your good words about the story and especially the pacing. I intend to speed things up a bit later, but right now, slow is the way to go. Yes, the peer pressure was very evident in this chapter, wasn't it?**  
Math Girl: **I think that Fermat and Alan will work things out, eventually. At least they're not at each other's throats, and Fermat is behind Alan in his battle with Sugi over the room, which is a mark of Fermat's budding maturity. But you're right about Alan slashing about without thinking. He's still working on growing up.**  
angel-flame: **Sorry this update took so long. Had a mini-spurt on _Overtures_, but I didn't forget this story. Hope you enjoyed the update, and I'm glad you like the story.**  
MonicaG: **Thank you for the kind words on the story, and your idea about Tin-Tin. I'm not sure how much of a role she'll play in this story yet. I hope to use her somewhat, but she is in school herself right now and isn't likely to make a personal appearance.**  
Emerald Queen: **That's right, they can't be blamed for feeling jumpy, or for thinking that their very speech is going to give the wrong . **  
Virgil's Grl: **Thanks for your compliments on the story. I'm glad you like it. More coming on the rumors and the room arrangements.  
**Lorency: **Well, they didn't exactly talk about the boys becoming men, but they did make a back up plan of sorts. Thanks for the compliments and the smile.**  
LoLLy: **The conversations sounded alike because the boys are in the same pickle to some extent. Thank you for the very detailed compliment about the realism of the story. I do strive for it.


	18. Unlikely Allies

_Author's note: _Bearding the dragon, and Fermat learns how to quiz. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Since fanfiction(dot)net has outlawed reviewer responses, I won't be posting them at the end any more. Hopefully, I responded to all of you, and to the anonymous reviewers, many thanks.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Monday morning seemed to crawl by in Alan's estimation. He met up with Dom for a final conference at breakfast. 

"I may have a little more ammunition for our request," the yearbook editor told him. "Where do you want to meet? And when?"

"Before lunch, outside the administration building where it faces the parking lot," Alan replied.

"I'll be there," Dom promised. "I'm not backing out of this."

"Me either," Alan affirmed, smiling slightly. "Just wish I didn't feel so nervous about the whole thing."

"Same here," the other boy admitted. "I'll see you later, Tracy."

"Right."

He couldn't shake the feeling that people were whispering about him, and about Fermat behind their backs. "Chill, Pinky," Jason counseled as they took their trays up together. "It's still early. And contrary to the old saw, gossip still has to travel at the speed of sound, from one person to another."

Alan nodded, acknowledging the truth of his friend's words but finding them to be cold comfort. He tried hard to concentrate on his courses but found it difficult. Mr. Graboski asked him a question during math, and it was only a well-timed nudge from Fermat that saved him from a second dose of public humiliation.

As he walked through the halls between classes, he thought he felt the eyes of his fellow students following him as he passed by. Even Fermat seemed jumpy and, by mutual consent, they entered and left their shared classes separately.

Finally, the bell rang for lunch. Alan gathered up his books, stuffing them into his backpack as he walked out, then sprinting down the stairs and across the quadrangle to the administration building. Dom was waiting there and standing next to him, to Alan's complete surprise, was Trey Mackenzie.

"Here's that ammo I told you about," Dom said, smiling. "Trey's going to ask to be transferred, too."

"Really?" Alan asked, puzzled. "Why?"

"I'm not doing it for you, Tracy," Trey said sullenly. "I'm doing this so I can stay in school. I figure that if I add my request to yours, you won't have to mention my little... problem."

"Oh, I see," the younger boy replied. He glanced at his watch. "Let's go and see if we can catch her before she goes to lunch or something."

The three teenagers entered the building and walked into the office of student affairs. Dom stepped up to the secretary's desk and asked, "Is Ms. Belvedere available?"

"What do you want to speak to her about?" the secretary asked. Alan couldn't help contrasting the secretary's attitude toward the three boys to the attitude she had displayed when it was his father asking for Ms. Belvedere.

"We'd like to speak to her about a room change," Dom answered.

The secretary sighed, and turned to pull out a folder. She extracted three sheets of paper and handed one to each of them. "Fill this out, and leave it in the tray over there when you're done. Ms. Belvedere will look at your request and make a decision on it within the next week."

Alan looked down at the paper. It was a form for requesting a room or dormitory change. He looked at the other two boys, then stepped forward. "Isn't there any way we could talk to her personally?" he asked politely.

The secretary gave him an irritated glare. "Fill out the form first. If Ms. Belvedere needs to talk to you, she'll call you in."

The three glanced at each other again, then Dom said, "Okay. Thank you."

Once they were in the corridor, Dom shook his head. "I should have known we couldn't see her right off. There's always some sort of protocol to follow."

"Are you going to fill out the form?" Alan bluntly asked Trey.

Trey scowled at him. "Yeah. As long as you two don't tell her the real reason, I'll keep my end of the bargain."

"We won't tell," Dom hastened to assure his roommate. "Listen, let's get some lunch and work on these afterwards. But try to get them turned in by the end of the day."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Alan said. "Besides, I'm starved." He folded up the paper and stuck it in his backpack, then turned to leave. "I'll catch you two later."

xxxx

"Hey, Alan!" Qaeshon called, waving a hand. Alan took his tray to the table where his friends sat.

"Wh-What happened?" Fermat asked eagerly.

"Nothing," Alan groused. "The secretary gave us a form to fill out, that's all." He took a sip of his drink and added, "But Mackenzie's with us, so the odds of our getting the room switch are better."

"If you can get Sugi to go along with it, then it's a sure thing," Ralph stated. He leaned in. "I hate to tell you this, but the rumor's getting around. Three people stopped me after classes today and either asked me about it or tried to tell me."

"Same here," Qaeshon admitted. "But I told them it wasn't true."

"I didn't think it would spread so fast," Jason said, shaking his head. "I had at least four people mention it to me."

"That kind of gossip spreads like wildfire," Ralph said. He turned to A.J. "What have you heard?"

The youngest of the group picked at his lunch. "I've gotten some... comments," he said, his voice barely heard over the noise of the cafeteria. "I've tried to set the record straight but I'm not sure that I did it very well."

The rest of the group were stunned into silence for a moment, then they all erupted into talk at once. Fermat and Qaeshon were trying hard to comfort and encourage A.J., while Ralph and Jason argued with each other about the best way to combat the rumor. The only one who didn't add to the noise was Alan. He sat still, not seeing his friends or hearing them, then his eyes narrowed in anger. He stood suddenly and searched the dining hall, looking for his roommate, now his enemy. He took a step away from the table, and Fermat, suddenly noticing his friend's expression and guessing his intent, lunged to grab Alan's forearm.

"No, Alan, d-don't!" he cried, grasping hold firmly and bringing Alan's behavior to the attention of the rest of the table. Alan turned to him, the anger on his face giving way to a surprised frown as he stared at Fermat's hand.

"C'mon, Pinky," Jason said, getting up and coming around to stand in front of his friend, providing a barrier between Alan and the rest of the diners. "Sit down. You want to take him? Fine. But not here and not now, and most certainly not by yourself."

Alan looked at his red-haired friend, then glanced back down at Fermat and let out a deep, shuddery breath. He sat down as suddenly as he had stood, dropping back into his chair and slumping. He glanced over at A.J.

"I'm sorry that you're caught up in this, kid," he said, his voice low and raspy. "Believe me, Sugi won't get away with this. I won't let him." The younger boy didn't know what to say, so just nodded.

Ralph looked at his watch. "We'd better get going. Lunch is almost over. Brain, I'll take your tray."

"I-I'm staying with you g-guys," Fermat said. "I'm not gonna s-s-s... wait alone. Not with everyone giving me weird l-l-looks."

"Okay." Ralph stood and took Fermat's unfinished lunch. "Let's go."

This time the entire group was conscious of the other boys and their furtive glances. As they passed their trays to Pierce, he grinned at Alan, then made a kissing motion with his mouth.

"You're not my type, creep, in any sense of the word," Alan remarked sarcastically. His comment and the angry expressions of the other boys did nothing to stop the kitchen worker; if anything, they made him smile wider.

On the way out, Fermat pulled on Qaeshon's arm. He pointed to Xavion, who was having a spirited conversation with Lee Sugimoto. Both of them had angry scowls on their faces, and as the boys watched, the dark-skinned teen got up, flinging his crumpled napkin down on his tray, then stalked off to dispose of his half-eaten lunch.

"Doesn't look good," Qaeshon said quietly to Fermat as they left. "Takes a lot to _really_ rile my brother. I wonder what Sugi said that got him all hot."

Fermat just shook his head. _I hope that whatever it was, it's not going to make things worse._

The rest of the day went by as slowly as the beginning. Alan had a quiz in strength training class which he was well prepared for and, since he finished it early, he spent a couple of moments filling out the form he'd been giving earlier. When he got to the line asking for the reason why he wanted to change rooms, he thought, _Since I can't rat on Mackenzie, I'm so tempted to put down "because my roommate is spreading lies about me". But how do I prove it? I think I'd be better off putting down "personality conflicts" instead. _

When the bell rang for his last class, Alan headed out, sprinting across the quadrangle again to drop his request off at Ms. Belvedere's office. To his surprise, the woman herself was in the outer office, poring over some papers.

"Here comes the other one," the secretary said as Alan entered, breathless.

Ms. Belvedere looked up and her eyebrows rose behind her glasses. "Mr. Tracy," she said. "I didn't expect you to be part of this request."

"I, uh, I am, ma'am," he said, holding out his paper.

She glanced over it and turned on her heel, waving him to follow her. "In my office, Mr. Tracy."

"Uh, ma'am. With all due respect, I'm supposed to..."

She cut him off. "Wherever you're supposed to be can wait. In my office _now_, Mr. Tracy."

Alan sighed quietly and followed her into her office. She waved him to one of the leather-covered chairs before her desk as she sat behind it.

"Now, tell me what this is all about," she ordered.

"Well, uh, you see, my current roommate, Lee Sugimoto, and I are having some personality conflicts," he began.

"What kind of conflicts?" she asked abruptly. "Yelling, screaming, hitting? Or do you disagree on whose turn it is to clean the bathroom?"

Alan blew out a breath. "We've had some head-to-head arguments. Not over the bathroom, though."

"What about then?"

_Damn! What do I tell her? I wish I knew what the others put down! _Alan fretted. _I guess I have to tell her about the rumors._

"Well, you see, he's been... he's been teasing me. About my friend, Fermat Hackenbacker," Alan said hesitantly. "He's, uh, questioned my, uh... my sexual orientation." Sighing audibly this time, he added, "And Fermat's as well. He's started a rumor that we're... more than friends."

"Mr. Sugimoto has started a rumor that you and Mr. Hackenbacker are homosexual?" Ms. Belvedere asked, frowning.

"Yes, ma'am," Alan said, dropping his gaze.

"Are you?"

Alan's head snapped upward, his eyes big with surprise at her question. He shook his head violently. "No, ma'am! We're friends. Good friends, that's all."

"Hmm." The woman looked over the papers in her hands, shuffling as she read them through again. Glancing up at Alan again, she asked, "Why Mr. Bertoli?"

"Well, it's not so much Dom as it is Trey. He's a really good friend of... of Lee's and it seemed that maybe the two of them would get along better," Alan said. "Dom and I have just met recently. He seems like an okay person."

She studied him again, then very deliberately, put the papers down. "Why not Mr. Hackenbacker? Your father and Professor Hackenbacker seemed very keen on the two of you rooming together."

Alan smiled a little, glanced down, then up again to meet her gaze. "Well, ma'am, I've met Fermat's new roomie, A.J. - excuse me, _Andrew_ - and I think he needs someone like Fermat to room with. Somebody who's gone through what he's going through now, being so young and away from home among a bunch of older boys. I don't want to deprive him of that. Besides, they seem to be getting along okay."

"Hmm." She gazed back at him, her eyes crinkled up a little in a thoughtful look. Then she drew in a breath and let it out, glancing down at the papers again then up. "I wouldn't have thought it of you, Mr. Tracy. Does your father know about this... selflessness of yours?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am, he does. So does Professor Hackenbacker. They're okay with it."

"I suppose this means that we won't be hearing from your father at the next board of directors' meeting then?"

"As far as my rooming with Fermat is concerned, you won't." He shrugged. "But that doesn't mean he might come up with something else to bring before the board."

Ms. Belvedere surprised Alan by chuckling slightly. Then she grew serious again. "I notice that Mr. Sugimoto's name isn't on one of these sheets. Is he aware of your desire to change rooms?"

Alan nodded. "Yes, ma'am, he is. He might not be aware about Trey Mackenzie's request, though. I was surprised myself when Trey came with Dom and me this morning."

"I see." She picked up the three sheets and tapped them on top of her desk, then stuck one corner in an automatic stapler. "I will have a little chat with Mr. Sugimoto myself, then make my decision based on that. I should have an answer for you, Mr. Bertoli, and Mr. Mackenzie by the end of the week." She put the stapled papers aside, then added, "You're dismissed, Mr. Tracy."

Alan rose to leave, but turned back with a look of chagrin on his face. "Uh, ma'am, could I have a note of some kind for Coach Evans?" He glanced at his watch. "I'm late for track practice."

"Track practice?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes, ma'am. I made the track team," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Then, congratulations, Mr. Tracy." She smiled slightly. "I'm glad to see you take an interest in something other than dirt bikes and Thunderbirds." Reaching out, she picked up a small transmitter. "Marie? Please write Mr. Tracy an excuse for tardiness. Address it to Coach Evans." Glancing over at him, she said, "You may pick up your note in the anteroom. Good afternoon, Mr. Tracy."

"Good afternoon, Ms. Belvedere, and thanks," Alan replied, smiling sheepishly. He picked up his books and left her office, feeling much more positive than he had when he went in.

xxxx

Fermat hadn't even bothered to go back to Maplewood after classes. Instead he went - computer, bookbag and all - to room 210 of the Student Union. He found Dev Israni and Mr. Feng already there, setting up the tables.

"H-Hey, Dev," Fermat said, smiling, as he propped his gear up along one wall.

"Greetings, my young friend," Dev said, his own smile wide and welcoming. "You are early."

"I d-didn't feel like g-g-g... returning to M-Maplewood. It's a l-long walk there and b-back."

"I understand."

The younger boy looked at the simple set-up: two rectangular tables with pads and pencils on them and four chairs lining one side. "H-How does this work?" he asked.

"Wait until everyone gets here, Devdan," Mr. Feng cautioned. "That way we only have to explain this once."

"Yes, sir," Dev replied with a nod.

Fermat watched in fascination as Mr. Feng put a pad covered in soft vinyl down on each chair. Then he went over to a laptop computer that sat on a desk, and instructed Dev to sit on each chair, one after another. As the tall teen got up from the chair, he paused before moving to the next one, waiting until Mr. Feng nodded. At one point, he was instructed to sit back down then stand again.

"That pad is still faulty," the faculty advisor said with a sigh. "I think we've got an extra, but it will mean recalibrating the others. I'll get it out."

Other boys began to arrive as Mr. Feng pulled another pad from the closet. This one was a different color than the others and Dev had to go through the same process again, starting this time with the chair that had held the faulty pad.

At last Mr. Feng was satisfied, and he stood, clapping his hands for attention. He made eye contact with each of the team members, smiling as he addressed them.

"Welcome, gentlemen, to this year's academic quiz team," his smile widened to a grin, "probably the only team at Wharton where intelligence is valued more than strength or skill."

He sobered a bit. "You have all passed the test we administered with very high scores and so have earned the privilege of being on the team. Remember, however, that being on this team, as on any other, _is _a privilege, not a right, and can be rescinded for unacceptable and unbecoming behavior."

The teacher picked up a data pad. "This year we have two squads of four players, with one substitute per group. The teams are sorted by classes, and each will be competing against people in their own class bracket. Our freshman/sophomore squad consists of the following people: Robert Bennett, Atif El Helou, Fermat Hackenbacker, and Tomas Lopez, with Timothy Delello as alternate. The junior/senior team has Mikal Enjaian, Devdan Israni, Joseph Morgan, William Shultz, and Wei Noh as the alternate. The overall team captain is Devdan Israni."

Fermat looked around at the others in the group. He recognized Tomas and Timothy as being in his classes, and deduced who the freshmen, Robert and Atif must be. He also recognized Mikal and Joseph from his pre-engineering class. _That leaves William and Wei. It's not hard to see which is which, either._

He turned his attention back to Mr. Feng, who was still talking. "Now, each of you has specific strengths and weaknesses, and you will be charged to answer the questions that come your way according to your strengths. Now, let's get the teams settled behind the tables, and I'll go into which questions you should answer once you're seated. Please arrange yourselves in alphabetical order from left to right."

Fermat got up and moved to sit next to skinny, dark-haired Atif El Helou. "Hi, I'm F-Fermat Hackenbacker," he said, offering his hand.

"I am Atif," the other boy said, his accent very British and his manner rather haughty as he took Fermat's hand and shook it once.

Plump, pale and blond Robert Bennett leaned over and offered his hand to Fermat. "Ah'm Robert Bennett," he said, his speech declaring his southern origins. "But you c'n call me Robbie. Ah already know Atif heah from some of mah classes."

"N-Nice to meet you, Robbie," Fermat said with a smile.

"You can call me Tom," Tomas Lopez said from Fermat's left, as he leaned over and introduced himself to his teammates. Then he, along with all the other squad members, turned his attention back to Mr. Feng.

"I want each of you to stand, starting over here," he pointed at Robbie, "and tell us your name and where you are from. There's a purpose to this beyond the introduction, and I will explain it when we are through."

So each boy stood up and gave his name and where he was from. Robbie turned out to be from Georgia. Atif was from London, which Fermat thought was odd. Tomas was from Cincinnati, and Timothy, who stood when Mr. Feng pointed at him, was from nearby Springfield. Mikal Enjaian was from New York City, while Devdan Israni hailed from Bombay. Joseph Morgan was from Boston, William Shultz from Florida, and Wei Noh came from Providence, Rhode Island. Fermat himself gave his own home as "somewhere near N-New Zealand", which he was sure would cause his teammates to ask questions.

As each of them stood, Mr. Feng sat behind the laptop, watching as each boy stood and nodding. He told them what particular subject questions they would be answering. Robbie got the natural sciences and general history. Atif would be answering language and musical questions. Fermat was given mathematics and the physical sciences while Tom was handed literature and geography. Among the upperclassmen, Mikal was given history and geography, Devdan had mathematics and general science. William had language and music, while Joseph had literature and government. When he got to Joseph, he asked the dark-skinned teen to stand again, then said, "Okay," and waved him back into his seat.

"Very good," he told them when they were through, standing up behind his computer. "Now that we've all been introduced, I'll tell you why I had you stand. You'll notice that there's a thin vinyl pad between you and the seat of the chair. This is called a jump seat. Whenever you stand, it sends a signal to the computer and tells me who responded to the question first, and who stood up second."

He moved out from behind the desk and explained his choice of subject for the team members. "Each of you has shown yourselves to be strong in the particular subjects you've been assigned, but I do expect some overlap among you," Mr. Feng explained. "Timothy and Wei have broader interests and will be able to substitute for most of you in a pinch. In fact, they will be rotated into the lineup every other meet."

Smiling, he picked up a small pile of papers and began to distribute them. "Now, let's talk about the rules of the quiz and how it's run. Some of you will remember most of this from last year, but there have been a few rule changes that we need to discuss."

Fermat scanned the paper he had been given as Mr. Feng went over it verbally. It looked straightforward enough. There were three rounds per squad each meet. The first round was a formal round. Questions would be asked of each team, running through the subjects that Mr. Feng has just mentioned to them. The team had to indicate exactly who was to reply to the question. Points were won if that person responded correctly. A player was not allowed to respond to more than two challenges, which meant that once a squad member had answered their allotment, they were out of the round.

The second round used the jump seats. The question was to be answered by the first person who jumped up, regardless of which team it was. If their answer was incorrect, the first person standing on the other side would be allowed to respond to the question. If they answered correctly, they earned the points.

The third round was more of a team effort. There would be eight questions, four per team. One team would be given a challenge, and they had sixty seconds to come up with the correct answer. If their response was incorrect, the other team had a chance to answer it and garner the available points.

"What happens if there is a tie?" Robbie asked, raising his hand.

"Then there will be three tie-breaker questions using the jump seats," Mr. Feng replied. "The best two out of three wins."

Fermat raised his hand. "Wh-What about math problems? Can we use a calculator?"

The teacher shook his head. "No, but you _can_ use pencil and paper. That's why the pads are on the tables." He put down his sheet, and picked up his data pad. "Right now, I want to practice with the jump seats." He grinned. "The underclassmen versus the upperclassmen. Ready? Push your chairs back a little so you can stand without clobbering yourself on the tables."

The older boys grinned and nodded, with Joseph going so far as to crack his knuckles. The newest players looked around uncertainly as the veterans, Tom and Timothy, made them push their chairs back.

Tom leaned over to speak to the other three players. "Even if the answer doesn't pop into your head at first, stand up as quick as you can."

The other boys nodded, and sat forward on their chairs as Tom did, hands on their knees and faces turned toward Mr. Feng, who had moved back behind his computer.

"Okay, now. First question. What is the technical term for the changes seen as an amphibian goes from egg to adult form?"

Robbie shot out of his seat, shouting the word, "Metamorphosis!"

"That would be counted as incorrect, Robert," Mr. Feng warned, holding up a finger. "You have to wait until you are acknowledged to answer the question. No points for that round."

Robbie sat back down, looking chastened. Fermat leaned around Atif and whispered to the blond, "It's o-okay. This is j-just practice."

The freshman nodded back at him and squared his shoulders. Fermat turned to listen to the next question. He could see that, as straightforward as the meet format might seem, there were still things for him to learn.

xxxx

Alan sprinted back to his dorm to change clothes. He knew his roommate wouldn't be there; Sugi was already at track practice.

_Which is where I need to be! _Alan thought, as he frantically shrugged off his shirt. Changing clothes in a hurry was something that he had learned to do over the summer, but it wasn't during a full-blown panic like the one he was experiencing now. Though changing took him less than five minutes from start to finish, Alan felt like it had taken far longer. Not only that, but he was already out the door and down the hall before he remembered his excuse from Ms. Belvedere. Throwing up his hands in frustration, he hurried back to his room, nipped in as fast as he could, and snagged the note. _Come on, Tracy! _he silently berated himself as he took the steps from the dorm's front door two at a time. _Faster!_

Coach Evans was not pleased when Alan finally made it to the track. "You're late, Tracy. I don't tolerate lateness in my team members," he said with a deep scowl.

"I know, Coach. I'm sorry, Coach," Alan huffed out. He held out his note from Ms. Belvedere. "I tried to tell her I needed to be here..."

The man looked at the note and snorted, his scowl letting up only a fraction. "Okay, Tracy. I'll let it go... this time. Next time, either schedule your appointments so they don't conflict with practice, or let me know ahead of time that you're going to be late."

Alan desperately wanted to say, "But I tried to see her at lunch", and "I didn't have any choice", but he realized that trying to explain further would be futile. So he just said, "Yes, sir."

"See Sugimoto. He's taking orders for uniforms. Then find Lewis," the coach instructed him. He waved his hand in the general direction of the track.

"Yes, sir," Alan replied. He sprinted off to where his roommate stood, data pad in hand, two other team members standing in front of him.

"So, you've decided to grace us with your presence, eh, Tracy?" Lee said sarcastically as Alan approached. "I hope you don't think your father's money is going to get you special treatment."

"No, I don't," Alan shot back sharply. The other boys, Erik and an upperclassman that Alan didn't know, glanced from one speaker to another then exchanged looks. The upperclassman folded his arms and turned to face Alan while Erik shrugged slightly and turned back to talk to Sugi.

Alan stood, arms folded, fidgeting as he waited for Sugi to finish with the other two. It seemed to take a long time and it looked to the youngest Tracy that Lee was dragging out the process intentionally. However, by the time he had finished with the other two boys, Xavion Lewis had come up behind him.

"I'll finish up here," the team captain said, taking the data pad and tape measure from Lee and indicating the track. "I want you to work with the relay team on their baton passing."

Sugi gave Xavion a venomous look, glared briefly at Alan, and walked off without a word. Xavion stared after the tall Asian for a moment, then turned to Alan.

"Okay, Tracy. What happened with Ms. Belvedere?" he asked, unraveling the tape measure. "Coach already showed me your excuse." He started with Alan's neck, wrapping the tape gently around it and entering the results into the pad.

"I went to her office to drop off some paperwork. She saw me, collared me, and we had a little talk," Alan said, holding out his arms so that Xavion could measure his chest. "I told her Sugi was teasing me about my... about my sexual orientation. She said she'd talk to him about the room change."

"Hmm. He's not going to like that," Xavion commented as he ran the tape from Alan's right shoulder to his wrist. "Especially if she talks to him about 'tolerance' and 'harassment'."

"Oh, no. I hadn't thought of that," Alan replied, with a groan. He kept his arms up so that Xavion could wrap the tape around his waist. "If she talks to him about that, my life will really be hell." He shook his head slowly, then asked, "What did he say to you?"

"He says that he didn't start the rumor," the older boy said as he squatted down to measure the inside of Alan's leg. He didn't look at Alan until he stood up and had finished putting the data he had gathered into the pad. "We're done here. Let's take a warm up jog around the track."

"Okay," Alan said.

Xavion set the pace, a jog in the grass around the track oval. "I asked him what was going on, why he was acting so differently. He says that nothing's changed. But something has, and I'm not the only one to notice it."

"He sure is making a big deal about my father's money," Alan remarked. "He made a comment about it the other night, and then again today when I went to get measured."

"Hmm." Xavion looked thoughtful. "That's interesting." He glanced at the younger boy. "Thanks for telling me that."

"You're welcome," Alan replied, puzzled. The two of them didn't speak again as they completed the circuit and moved into actually practicing for their first meet.

_

* * *

How will Sugi react to his little "talk" with Ms. Belvedere?Will Alan get that room change?Will the fathers intervene? Will the Thunderbirds get a rescue call? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	19. Underclassmen vs Upperclassmen

_Author's note: _The outcome of practices, a father gets a note, Alan discovers something disturbing. Sorry this took so long; writer's block is a pain. Thanks to AmandaTracy and Hobbeth for being sounding boards, and Hobbeth for betareading. Also, a thank you to andrewjameswilliams, who suggested a subplot to me. To my anonymous reviewers, many thanks. To my signed reviewers, you'll be hearing from me soon.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"That was a lot harder than I thought it was gonna be," Tom commented. 

"It most c-c-c... it really w-was," Fermat replied, shaking his head in amazement.

The upperclassmen had firmly trounced the lowerclassmen. In many cases, it wasn't because of lack of knowledge as much as it was skill in how to play the game. The juniors and seniors had more experience in getting to their feet at just the right moment in the second round, but the freshmen and sophomores did well in the third round, where their combined knowledge was able to match the older boys answer for answer. Their victories, no matter how small, buoyed the new players' confidence. But Mr. Feng warned them against loud expressions of delight, as the judges would not stop asking questions while they high-fived each other.

"If there's cheering from the _audience_, they will pause for it to die down," Mr. Feng said.

"Yes," Devdan piped up. He shook his head ruefully. "Unfortunately, there is usually little applause for our meets, even when we have the 'home court advantage'. Few are interested in academic quizzing."

"And our meets often conflict with those of the athletic teams," Mr. Feng added. He looked at the ten young men before him. "Don't think for a moment that we'll ever be able to compete with the athletic department for popularity. We won't and that's a given. But what we do, how we conduct ourselves, and the fun we have expressing what we have learned, is as much a credit to Wharton as any soccer game. We carry the banner of academic excellence, showing the kinds of students that Wharton can, and does, produce on a yearly basis." He stopped, took a deep breath, then grinned. "Now that I've gotten _that_ out of my system..."

The boys laughed, and he joined them. "Not that it's not true or anything, but... let's just have fun and beat the pants off of our opponents, okay?"

The practice meet had continued. When it was over, and the upperclassmen were triumphant, Mr. Feng took some time to address the persistent problems that individual team members were having. Then he, Dev, and Mikal worked together to measure each boy for a sports jacket, which would be part of their team garb, and gave each player a tie to wear at the meets.

"Hold for a moment, Fermat," Dev said as the younger boy prepared to leave. The team captain beckoned to Tom, who came over, a quizzical look on his face. "Mr. Lopez, would you please give Mr. Hackenbacker some assistance in returning to our mutual dormitory? As you can see, he is in need of it."

"Sure!" the sophomore said brightly. "You're in Maplewood, too, Fermat?" he asked. "Which floor?"

"Third floor, w-w-west wing," Fermat replied.

"Okay. I'm on the first floor, east wing. I'd be happy to give you a hand."

So it was that the two boys were making their way along the walkways, heading to the dorm on the far side of the quad, Tom carrying Fermat's bookbag in addition to his own backpack. They talked a little, small talk mostly.

"So, you said you lived somewhere near New Zealand," Tom stated. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I, uh, live with my f-f-f... my dad on a tiny, tropical i-island somewhere n-n-north of New Z-Zealand," Fermat replied. He shrugged. "It's, uh, k-kinda hard to e-explain."

"Huh, I guess it would be. Hard to pinpoint on the map?"

"Y-Yeah," Fermat said, nodding. "Something like th-that."

"Sounds cool, living in the tropics," Tom said. "Must be nice to not have any snow or ice." He looked around at the trees and heaved a sigh. "At least, having lived in Cincy, I'm used to the snow."

Fermat decided to pass over the other boy's oxymoron, and instead told him. "I'm n-not fond of w-w-w... the seasonal ch-changes. Autumn isn't b-bad, but the sn-snow can get d-deep."

"Yeah, it can. Good thing Wharton's well-prepared for winter conditions."

They fell silent as they entered the elevator and rode it up to the third floor. Fermat stepped out, and Tom asked, "Can you manage this the rest of the way?"

"S-Sure. Thanks for h-helping me out."

"No problem," Tom replied as he handed Fermat his bookbag. "See you in class tomorrow."

"Yeah, see y-you."

The elevator door closed, and Fermat strode down the hall. The laundry boxes, four this time, sat in front of their door, and once Fermat had deposited his school supplies and laptop inside, he retrieved the containers, leaving his roommate's boxes next to the appropriate chifforobe. He plugged his laptop back into its desk station, and booted it up. Mr. Feng had told the boys that the schedule of meets should be waiting in both their email and their campus mail, and Fermat couldn't wait to forward a copy to his father.

"Ah, th-there it is," he said in satisfaction as he sat down before his laptop. A few keystrokes, a quickly written note, and the schedule was on its way to Brains. Fermat scrolled down through his messages and his eyes lit up as he saw a particular email address among the dozen or so others.

"A letter from T-Tin-Tin!" he cried happily, opening the file. "With some p-p-p... photos! Cool!"

xxxx

Brains was already hard at work, sitting at his work station in a corner of Thunderbird Two's hangar, a thermal mug of lukewarm coffee at one elbow, and the Firefly's specs dominating his wide, flat-screen computer monitor. He was following Jeff's instructions on finding a way to add some kind of shielding to the cannon operator so they could prevent a repeat of Gordon's recent experience. His goal was to find a way to retrofit the machine instead of redesigning it... though, if he had to go that far, he would.

"Need to use something clear, so the operator can see, but tough and enclosed, so that cooler air can be pumped in," Brains muttered to himself, his stutter disappearing as he became lost in his work. "I'll need to beef up the air conditioning units, as well."

His computer gave a soft "ping" sound and he glanced up almost irritably at the small window that appeared in the lower right of his screen. He read it, looked back at the schematics, then it finally registered with his mind what he had read and he turned back to the window. _Fermat! _he realized with a smile. Touching the screen, the window opened and the note from his son appeared.

_Dear Dad,_

_I had my first practice for quiz team today. It was interesting. Mr. Feng went over the format with us. There are three rounds: questions directed at specific individuals on a team, questions directed to both teams (and the first to answer gets the points), and questions given to a team in general. Once he went over the rules, we played a practice round, the upperclassmen against the lowerclassmen. Sadly, we underclassmen were soundly trounced, though we did very well in the third round. I was fitted for a jacket, and was given a tie to wear at the meets. Just giving you fair warning on any incoming bills._

_You'll find our schedule attached to this note. I wish you could come to our first meet, but that will be out of town and this weekend, which is too short a notice. Maybe the next one? In any case, I hope to see you soon._

_Everything else is as well as can be expected. I'm still waiting to hear from Alan on the subject of room changes. Perhaps he'll tell me at supper._

_Well, on to my homework. Got lots to do._

_Love,_

_Fermat_

Brains smiled wider at the missive, and opened the attachment to scan it. He took a moment to bring up his planning calendar, and quickly added the dates of Fermat's meets to it. Then he forwarded the schedule on to Jeff with just a sentence, "Here's the schedule of Fermat's quiz meets. We can compare it with Alan's later. Brains."

That completed, he saved the letter to his hard drive and got back to work. It took a bit for him to regain the focus he had before the email popped up, but eventually he did and ended up working through lunch on the Firefly retrofit.

xxxx

Alan trudged back to his dorm, sweaty and tired. Xavion had put him through his paces, giving him instruction on how to do the "Fosbury Flop" and trying to undo the technique Alan had already taught himself.

"You'll clear the bar more cleanly this way, and without twisting your back muscles," the team captain told him. Alan couldn't quite agree. He didn't see what was wrong with what he had been doing, nor could he get the hang of the new technique. Exasperated, Xavion called a halt to the lesson and sent Alan off to Coach Evans, who was at the jumping pit. Lee Sugimoto was there, smoothing the sand's surface after the last jumper.

"All right, Tracy. Here's what I need for you to do," the coach began. "Get a good running start, and push off from this raised board with your stronger leg. Then, as you move through the air, bring both of your legs forward beneath you for your landing."

"Right, Coach," Alan said, nodding.

The man held up a finger. "Now, something to remember. There's a piece of Plasticine here at the end of the board. It's there to mark if any part of your foot is in front of the board when you start your jump. Should there be any mark on that bit of soft clay, your jump doesn't count, no matter how far you've gone. So, you want to judge your launch position very carefully. Understand?"

Alan nodded again. "I understand, Coach. No marks on that... stuff... whatever you called it."

"Plasticine, Tracy. It's a kind of modeling clay, sort of like Play-Doh, but it doesn't get hard." Coach Evans shook his head. "Just jump, Tracy."

"Right." Alan backed up along the grassy lane. The jumping pit, seeing as it had a sandy landing zone, was set at one end of the track, where it wouldn't interfere with the soccer oval, where most of the other track and field events could safely be held. He tried to gauge the length to the launching board, nodded to himself, and began to run, picking up speed as he went. His feet hit the board one after another, the stronger ending up closer to the pit, just as he'd intended. He leaped into the air, the momentum of his run carrying him on, and unconsciously brought his legs under him to stop his forward fall. His heels hit the sand first, and the upper part of his body moved beyond them, so he ended up on hands and knees. The entire jump was so lightning fast that he had no time to think about it, and he was almost surprised to find himself in the sand, his hands stinging from breaking his fall. He stood and looked over his shoulder at the coach.

"Not bad, Tracy, not bad at all. A clean jump," Coach Evans said encouragingly. Lee, who had wordlessly measured the length of Alan's jump, spoke quietly to the coach.

"Hmm. Not as far as your jump during try outs, but respectable, very respectable." The older man beckoned to Alan. "Let's try that again."

Alan brushed the sand off his hands and headed back towards the coach. Lee was approaching, the smoothing broom in his hand, and he bumped his shoulder roughly into Alan's as he passed. Alan paused long enough to give Sugimoto a poisonous glare, but the older boy continued on his way as if nothing had happened.

"C'mon, Tracy! Time's a-wasting!" the coach called.

Alan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then trotted off to get his running start.

The next two jumps weren't as successful as the first. Alan marked the Plasticine on the first of them, and didn't get enough momentum on the second.

"Okay, Tracy. We'll work on those jumps again later. Right now, I want you to tap Steve Ulrich over there," the coach pointed to a tall, dark-haired boy who was at the opposite end of the field from them, "and have him work with you on the javelin."

"Yes, coach," Alan replied. He jogged off, heading for the boy who he had seen working with the discus and shot put. When he reached Steve, he took a moment to catch his breath then held out his hand. "I'm Alan Tracy. Coach said you're to work with me on the javelin."

Steve looked at Alan's outstretched hand, scowled, then ignored the offered handshake. "I _know_ who you are, Tracy. You can call me Steve. So, you're my alternate on javelin?"

"Yeah," Alan replied coolly, dropping his hand. "I am."

"You ever throw in competition before?" Steve asked, a touch of sneer in his voice.

"No, I haven't. I haven't thrown it except for try outs," Alan admitted, folding his arms over his chest.

"No? That's odd. Usually we get throwers who are much more prepared," was the snide reply.

"Listen, _Steve_," Alan said, accentuating the older boy's name, clipping his words off sharply in an unconscious imitation of his father. "I don't know what bug you've got up your ass, but remember this: the coach seems to think I have some talent, or he wouldn't have given me the position." He leaned over to pick up the fiberglass javelin. "Now, are you going show me how or not?"

"I'm not the one with something up his ass, Tracy," Steve muttered in reply. He snatched the javelin from Alan's hands, and walked away to a painted area set between the track and the baseball field. He glanced over his shoulder at the younger boy, who stood still, his face pale. "Come on."

Alan found himself unable to move. The muttered taunt had taken him completely by surprise. His face drained of color as the shock, like a bucket of cold water to the face, made it difficult for his mind to actually process the barely audible comment. Then he began to shake with rage, his face turning a dangerous, angry red. It took all his willpower to stop himself from attacking Steve, and he clamped his jaw shut tightly to bite off a reflexive, caustic string of invective before it reached his lips. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and stalked off after his instructor.

By the end of practice, Alan was sore both physically and emotionally. Steve remained condescending while showing Alan some of the finer points of throwing the javelin, including demonstrating the best way to hold, carry, and throw the spear. He had Alan throw it, each time criticizing the way Alan moved down toward the release line, his timing on the release, and just about anything else the younger boy tried to do.

"Coach will be downloading some training vids for you to watch on your computer," he told Alan. "And he'll set up some throwing drills as well. But remember, you're only the alternate. This isn't something you'll be doing often, _if_ at all."

Alan was tired, so he simply nodded. But as they walked over to join the coach for a few last instructions, his frustration with the older boy came to a head, and he reached out to grab Steve's arm. Swinging Steve around to face him, Alan's blue eyes narrowed and he spoke in a cold, controlled voice.

"Listen. I don't know what you've heard about me, but that crack you made earlier was way out of line. I know that a rumor's going around about me. I know what it is, and who started it. Most importantly, I know why he started it, though that's between me and him. But I'm telling you now, it's not true. Even if it were, that crap you said was still out of line. If I hear anything like it again, you'll wish you'd never opened your mouth."

Steve shook him off. "What'll you do, Tracy? Go running home to daddy?"

"No. I'll report you for harassment. First to the coach. Then to whoever in the administration can do something about it." He began to walk away, then turned and pointed a finger at the older boy. "Remember that." Then he jogged off to find the coach.

Coach Evans went over the practice times for the team, including the addition of a morning run to the new team members' daily schedule.

"I'll see you all at the gym at seven a.m. sharp. The dining hall opens for athletes at six, so get a light breakfast as early as possible." The coach glanced around at the young men. "Everyone on the same page? Good. I'll see you all tomorrow morning."

Now Alan stood before the door to his room and in a bit of a quandary. _Do I go in and possibly find Sugi in there? What happens if I do? _In his current state of mind and body he'd almost rather not go in, but something his father had said came to mind.

"..._don't let your roommate ride roughshod over you. It's your room, too, you know."_

_You're right, Dad, _Alan thought. _It is my room, too... but only until the end of the week - I hope._

With that, he knocked, then put his hand up to the lock. The door swished open, and Alan came face to face with Lee Sugimoto - who was coming out of the bathroom with a syringe in his hand.

_

* * *

Why does Sugi have that syringe? What does Tin-Tin have to say? When will Brains get to see Fermat in action? Will Jeff get to see Alan compete? Will the Thunderbirds get a rescue call? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	20. Unrequited

_Author's note:_ Alan confronts Sugi, and Tin-Tin makes a long-distance appearance. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and to Math Girl for giving me a shove. To my anonymous reviewers, many thanks.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan stared at the syringe for a moment, his mind trying to comprehend what it was his eyes saw. Lee hurriedly closed his hand around it and strode over to his chifforobe. That prompted Alan to move and he did, slinging off his light jacket and all but falling into his desk chair. 

"What's that all about?" he asked, motioning his head in his roommate's general direction.

"What's what all about, Tracy?" came the caustic response.

"The syringe." Alan tried to make his voice non-committal, to keep his body posture open. "You on some kind of medication? Insulin?" The thought that Lee might be diabetic or in need of some legitimate medical treatment had occurred to him and he preferred to think that way instead of speculating in darker, more dangerous directions.

"None of your business," Lee growled as he put the syringe into the locked drawer of his closet.

Alan expected that reaction. But if his roommate did have a specific medical need, Alan wanted to know about it so he could help if necessary--even as a little voice in the back of his head wondered why Lee hadn't told him the first day or so, when they were on better speaking terms.

"Listen," he began, his tone reasonable, "if you're on medication, that's okay; that's cool. I'd like to know in case you need help of some kind or other."

Lee closed the door to his closet, then turned to fix Alan with an icy glare. "Like I said, it's none of your business." He took a few steps toward the younger boy. "I see that I've got a summons to see Ms. Belvedere tomorrow. Your doing, I suppose."

"Not just mine," Alan said coolly. Since Lee was shutting him out, Alan felt no more reason to sound or act sympathetic.

"Right. Yours and Bertoli's. I haven't forgotten." The older boy turned from him abruptly and headed back into the bathroom.

Alan toyed with the idea of telling Lee that Trey was in on the request, too, but decided against it. _Let him be surprised, _he said to himself, turning to boot up his computer. _And, note to self: ask Zave if Sugi takes medication and for what._

xxxx

Fermat sat down to read his note from Tin-Tin.

_Hey, Fermat!_

_How are you? I'm okay. Well, actually I'm better than okay, if you don't count the homesickness and the cold weather. I spent last weekend with Lady Penelope and that was such a great spirit lifter! We went horseback riding, then shopping in London. I really needed some warmer clothes and now I've got so many new outfits and dresses. Oh, excuse me, new **frocks**! Must use the correct dialect here. _;P

_It seems so strange to walk out in the morning and see frost on the ground and my breath huffing out in great white clouds of mist. Me, who's lived all her life in the tropics, thrust in an environment where everything changes so quickly and vibrantly. The leaves on the trees actually change color, then fall off! Yeah, yeah, I knew it was true, but I've never **experienced** it before, y'know? It's one thing to know it in your head, and another to see it live and in person. I can hardly wait to see snow; I really hope we get some!_

_So, how's life at Wharton? I heard that you and Alan got split up. That's got to be a pain. After all, who is Alan going to go to for homework help now? You've always were the brains of the bunch, and I was the brawn. Alan's just a pretty face. _XD_ (Don't you dare tell him I said that!) What classes are you taking? You mentioned you hoped to take pre-engineering. Did that work out? Anything else cool going on? I want to hear it all!_

_School here is interesting. I have two roommates, Ellie and Victoria. Don't **ever **call Ellie by her full name Elaine, or Victoria, Vicky--at least, not if you want to have a warm room. I mean, when I mistakenly called Victoria, Vicky, it was like, sub-zero in our room. They are friends and have roomed together before, so I'm the outsider. But don't think that I won't stand up for myself. They both started calling me Tinny, and I put my foot down, big time! Now they call me "Miss Belegant". And we're only two weeks into the term!_

_I've had to learn a whole new vocabulary. "Mufti" means street clothes, which we don't wear on weekdays (but you know all about that, don't you?). Things you like are "minty", and then there's the whole truck-lorry, flashlight-torch, etc. business. Sometimes I feel so stupid asking my classmates what they mean when they say something weird like that. And they've tried to fake me out, too, by giving me the wrong words for things, words that are actually slurs or really mean nasty things. Somehow, though, I know when they're doing that. Maybe it has to do with what happened with the scorpion in the jungle._

_Here I am sounding all down and like I don't like being here, when I really do! The teachers are great (for the most part) and the classes are fascinating, especially the sciences. Visiting Lady Penelope is a treat. The girls were really impressed when she came to pick me up in FAB-1; I think that I'll have less trouble with some of them now. And I have actually made some friends, too. Their names are Catherine, Keiko and Amalie. Catherine is a Londoner, Keiko is the daughter of the Japanese ambassador(!), and Amalie's mother is an executive with Michelin, recently transferred to England._

_I've enclosed some pictures. One is of me and my roommates: Victoria's on my left and Ellie's on my right. There's one with me and my friends Catherine and Amalie at Foxleyheath, and one with Lady Penelope, Keiko and me during our shopping trip. It was so cool that Lady Penelope invited them all to come to Foxleyheath with me!_

Fermat pulled the pictures up in a separate window. The picture of Tin-Tin and her roommates was formal, posed somewhere outside. The smiles were plastered on, showing the discomfort the three girls were having in getting along and living together. The smiles in the pictures of Tin-Tin and her friends were real, much more relaxed, and Lady Penelope almost looked like one of the girls herself, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He smiled and sent the picture files to his printer.

He glanced up as A.J. walked in, slinging his jacket on the upper bunk.

"What's up?" the younger boy asked.

"R-Reading my m-m-m... e-mail," Fermat replied.

"Ah," was the laconic answer. Fermat grinned and returned to his computer screen.

_Well, I can't think of much more to say right now, Fermat. I miss you guys so much! Please write back and tell me about life at Wharton. Send me pictures so I can put them up and wow all the girls with the hunky guys I know (and you are hunky in your own geeky way, y'know)._

_Hope to hear from you soon!_

_Love,  
Tin-Tin_

"Hey, who's that?" A.J. asked as he picked up the printed pages. "Wait, I remember seeing her. She was in that picture that Pinky showed us, wasn't she?"

"Y-Yeah," Fermat said, gently taking the first of the pictures, the one that A.J. had been perusing, from his roommate. "Her name is T-Tin-Tin Belegant. She's a g-good f-f-f... pal."

"She's pretty," A.J. said, handing Fermat the second picture. He whistled as he glanced over the third photo. "Wow! Who's the blonde?"

"Lady P-Penelope Creighton-W-Ward," Fermat replied, taking the remaining picture and beginning to trim it as he had the others. "She's a friend of Alan's family... especially his d-d-d... father."

"Isn't she a model or something?" A.J. asked as he watched the older boy put the pictures on the wall with tape.

"Y-Yeah, she is," Fermat replied, distractedly. He liked Lady Penelope but his eyes kept straying toward Tin-Tin's smiling face. He knew that the Malaysian girl considered him a good friend, and that the "love" at the end of her letter was a mere formality, but... he could dream, couldn't he?

xxxx

Alan sat down before his computer. He had emails from Gordon, John, and Tin-Tin, as well as the schedule of track meets. This last he forwarded on to Jeff with a brief note asking to be informed when and if his father was coming to a meet. He opened Gordon's email and snorted a laugh as he read it.

_...I'm feeling better, but doing laps in the pool today tired me out quicker than usual. Onaha still thinks I'm too pale, and says so at every opportunity. Sometimes I think she's being the ultimate mother hen because she misses Tin-Tin. Truth to tell, I miss the kid, too. And I miss you and Fermat, but not enough to drag you home and listen to you whine about being homeschooled! _XD

_Onaha's not the only one doing the "mother hen" thing, either. Scott's always got an eye on me, and so does Dad when he has one to spare. In fact, Scott sat out on the patio with one of those aviation magazines and watched me swim. Oh, he **pretended** he was reading, but I knew better. It's given me an idea though..._

Alan chuckled as Gordon laid out his plan, one that involved a rubber snake, a bag of marbles and some peanut butter. The letter left him in a good mood and for a few moments he was able to forget his current troubles.

The letter from John was more guarded, as he couldn't exactly be forthcoming about his work or his location in an email. Brains's firewalls and malware defenses were impressive in their impregnability, but one never knew when something new and nasty could slip through and gain access to the family's personal communiqués. John still had plenty to say, though, mostly on the subject of track, and particularly on cross-country.

_...Don't forget what I taught you about aerobic and anaerobic breathing, Sprout. That in itself will help your endurance. Try running to and from class, but not right after meals, and make sure you use the stairs! I know how much easier it is to cop out and take the elevator..._

Most of what he had to say was old hat to Alan from the previous summer, but there were a few tips that he hadn't heard before. John also reminded him about the strength training, and Alan made a second mental note to ask Mr. Beccara if he could use the facilities outside of class. _Maybe if I show him that I can do the exercises the right way, he'll let me work out at other times._

He saved the letter from Tin-Tin for last, skimming over it indifferently. He wasn't interested in girl stuff like shopping. Though he didn't know it, the letter was almost a duplicate of the one Tin-Tin had sent Fermat, just tweaked to make it more personal for Alan.

..._So, how's life at Wharton? I heard that you and Fermat got split up. That's got to be a pain. After all, who are you going to go to for homework help now? Fermat's always been the brains of the bunch, I'm the brawn..._

_What does that make me? Chopped liver? _he thought irritably.

_...and I can just hear you wondering, if that makes you chopped liver! No, Alan, you're the one who bankrolls our escapades! Very important! _;P_ What classes are you taking? I heard you were going out for track and field. Did you make the team? Anything else cool going on? I want to hear it all!_

He skimmed to the end of the missive then opened up the attached pictures. He shrugged at the first two, but the third one made him take a deep, appreciative breath. Immediately, he sent it to the printer, and within a few moments it was in his hands.

Sugi's curiosity got the better of him and he crossed over to look at the photo as Alan taped it up above his desk.

"Who're they?" he asked sullenly.

Alan almost didn't answer. He gave his roommate a long, sideways look, then turned back to the picture. "The girl with the long, dark hair is my friend, Tin-Tin. The one with the short, dark hair is one of her friends. And the blonde..." He sighed with satisfaction. "The blonde is Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, the model. She's a good friend of my da--of my family."

"Hmph." Sugi's uttered grunt indicated that his curiosity had been satisfied and that Alan could expect no other comment.

Alan gazed long at the picture, and particularly at Lady Penelope. It was true she seemed to be attracted to his father, and that it looked like his dad reciprocated, but... he could dream, couldn't he?

He heard the door open and shut from the other side of the room and his shoulders relaxed when he saw Sugi was gone. A quick glance at the clock told him why.

"Oh man," he muttered under his breath. "Gotta hurry to dinner."

Grabbing his jacket, he pulled it on, gazing at the picture and clumsily shutting down his computer all at the same time. Then he hurried out, sprinting for the front door and down the stairs, already putting John's advice into action.

_

* * *

What will Zave say about Sugi and the syringe? What will happen with Sugi and Ms. Belvedere and how will it affect Alan? Will Jeff and Brains make plans to visit? Will the Thunderbirds get a rescue call? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	21. Uneasy Day

_Author's note: _Dinner conversation. The fathers confer. The first morning run. Alan talks to the coach. Thanks Hobbeth for betareading and for being a sounding board. To my anonymous reviewers, many thanks.

_Special note: _It's come to my attention that some readers are confused about the identities of Zave and Kay. Basically, **Zave** is **Xavion** (pronounced "ZAVE-yon") and **Kay** is **Qaeshon** (pronounced Kay-SHON). "Kay" as Qaeshon's nickname was established back in chapter three. Just wanted to clear that up.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan sat down with his friends and noticed two things right off. One, they had lost a member of their group. Jason was glaring at his roommate, Ralph, who was several tables over, sitting with Lee Sugimoto and other upperclassmen, trying hard not to lock eyes with the redhead. Two, they had gained a member. Xavion Lewis sat next to his younger brother. He looked up when Alan sat down and gave the blond a curt nod. 

"What's up?" Alan asked, turning from Jason to Xavion.

Jason growled a bit, then stopped trying to bore holes into his roommate's head and looked over at Alan. "Ralph's chickening out," he said with disgust. "He's decided that where there's smoke there's fire, and he doesn't want to be associated with you and the Brain."

Alan had his fork halfway to his mouth when Jason made his statement, and he dropped it with a noisy clang and a spatter of spaghetti sauce. "After the session we had last night? Even knowing that Sugi's spreading a false rumor? You're kidding, right?"

"No," Jason replied sourly. "I wish I were." The redhead's shoulders slumped. "But... he was new to our group; he came around just because we were roommates. He doesn't really know you or the Brain very well."

"More fool him, then," A.J. commented. "If he believes those rumors..."

"I know," Jason said with a sigh. "But still, it's a bummer when a friend defects on you. Especially when you have to live with him."

"Don't I know it," Alan said, twirling the spaghetti around his fork again then spearing a piece of meatball. "Sugi...," he shook his head, "I don't want to talk about him and his snarky attitude." The blond turned his head toward Xavion. "What brings you here?"

The question caught Xavion in the middle of a gulp of milk, and he held up a finger to tell Alan to wait. Once he had drained the carton, one of three on his tray, he wiped his mouth and said, "I guess I'm the defector here. I had that little talk with Sugi. Man, he is definitely not the same guy he was last year. I don't know what's gotten into him, but I knew that if I kept hanging out with him, sooner or later, someone was going to get hurt, and it wouldn't be me!" He gave Qaeshon a nudge. "We Lewises always stick together." Flicking his eyes between Alan and Fermat, he added, "Besides, like I said last night, I believe you and Kay. Sugi's way out of line."

"Thanks, Zave," Alan said gratefully. "It's good to know that other people don't believe the rumors." He frowned a bit, wondering if this was a good time to ask his question. Looking around the table, he figured, _I might as well ask in front of everyone. Sugi's lost any claim to privacy he might have had by being such an ass to me._

"Zave?"

"Hm, yeah, Pinky?"

"Does Sugi take some sort of... medication?" He paused, grasping for a disease that he knew required injections. "Y'know, for diabetes or something?"

Zave sat back slowly, giving Alan an intense frown. "What do you mean?"

Alan took a deep breath, and recounted what happened when he returned to his room after practice. "...Then he locked the thing in his drawer instead of disposing of it, like maybe he had to use it again. That's why I thought diabetes... or something."

The senior shook his head, the ends of his corn row braids quivering as he did. "Damn. Not Sugi. But... it explains a lot." He glanced up at Alan, then met the gazes of the other boys, who were all waiting for his answer. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, and addressed Alan. "No, Pinky. As far as I know, Sugi doesn't have any medical condition where he would need injections. Not unless he was diagnosed with something over the summer. But even if that had happened, I'd have to know about it, being track captain and all. And no one has said a word." He shook his head again. "Wish I could get hold of that syringe. If what I'm thinking is true, Sugi's in big trouble."

There was silence between the boys, a quiet that Alan broke. "I didn't want to think the worst of him, Zave, despite what he's doing. That's why I asked."

"I understand, Pinky. I just wish I had a way of proving it without making Sugi take a drug test. I don't like ratting on my friends," Xavion said with a frown. "But I don't see I have a choice. I have responsibilities as team captain, and those have to come first. I can't play favorites."

"M-Makes me wish P-Parker were here," Fermat said with a tiny smile.

"Parker? Who's that?" Qaeshon asked, puzzled.

"Chauffeur and butler to a family friend, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward," Alan explained off-handedly. "He used to be a safe cracker."

" Lady Penelope? Is that the beautiful blonde that Fermat has a picture of?" A.J. asked.

The two friends exchanged glances, and Fermat nodded. "If Fermat got the same pictures in the mail that I did, then yeah, that's her," Alan said.

"Why would she hire an ex-burglar?" A.J. wanted to know.

"H-He went st-st-st... he reformed," Fermat said. "He was t-trained as a butler before he w-went bad. Lady P is v-very big on ch-charity cases."

"So, if this Parker dude were here, he could get into Sugi's drawer, is that what you're saying, Brain?" Qaeshon asked.

"Oh, y-yeah," Fermat replied confidently. "No sw-sw-sw... piece of cake."

Alan briefly entertained the thought of emailing Parker and asking him for instructions on how to pick open the fingerprint lock, but quashed the idea, knowing it would probably get him in more trouble than he could imagine. He came out of his reverie to find that Xavion held the floor.

"I'm going to have to pass this on to the coach," he was saying. "The league we play in supports drug testing, but only if there is just cause." The older boy turned to Alan. "Would you be okay with telling the coach what you saw?"

Alan nodded at first, then blew out a short, frustrated huff when a thought occurred to him. "If you think Coach would believe me," he said. "I mean, Sugi could just tell him I was jealous or that I was trying to get at him because I _thought_ he started the rumor..." He shook his head. "This is such a mess!"

"Hey, Pinky," Xavion said, his tone both serious and encouraging. "Not everyone is gullible. Not everyone is going to believe this stupid rumor. And when there's an accusation of doping, it doesn't matter what motive Sugi gives you. He has to be tested; it's in the rules. And if he's using, it'll turn up." He locked eyes with the younger boy. "So, are you with me?"

"Yeah, Zave. I'm with you," Alan said with a nod. "Let me know when and where."

"I will."

There were a few moments of quiet as the boys went back to eating. Then Jason asked, "So, Pinky, any news on the Belvedere front?"

Alan gave him a strange look. "You do _not_ want to know what flashed through my mind when you said that, Jase."

Jason thought for a moment, then grimaced, while the other boys, finally catching up with Jason's faux pas, groaned. "Oogh. I see what you mean," the redhead admitted. "Okay. Let me rephrase that: have you heard from Ms. Belvedere?"

"Well," Alan began, "When I went to drop off my form, Ms. Belvedere was there, reading the forms from Dom and Trey..." He went on to tell them about his interview with her, and what Sugi said about having to see her the following day.

"Sounds promising," Jason responded. "Do you think there's anything she can do about the rumor?"

Alan shrugged. "Short of making a general announcement to the entire school, I doubt it. But getting out of Sugi's range would be a good thing. Maybe the rumor will die down once we switch rooms."

"I h-hope so," Fermat said fervently.

The boys' conversation turned to more mundane matters like homework and upcoming events. Fermat told his friends about the quiz team practice, and the little group speculated some about the mysterious attacks of the previous week.

"I hope things stay quiet," Jason said as he swept up his last bit of marinara sauce with his garlic bread. He popped it in his mouth, chewed on it a bit, then tucked the bread into his cheek to say, "Wouldn't want t' be their next victim."

Qaeshon and Xavion shook their heads in unison. "Chew and swallow before you talk, man," the senior said. "Don't want to have to do the Heimlich here in the dining hall."

Jason rolled his eyes dramatically as the other boys chuckled at the banter. Their meals finished, they got up from their seats and went to dispose of their trash and dishes. Pierce wasn't on duty, for which both Fermat and Alan were grateful.

"Hey, where's A.J. going?" Jason asked as the younger boy split off from the main group.

"Don't kn-know," Fermat replied, puzzled. "Let's f-find out."

Fermat went after his roommate, and Jason followed when he saw the youngest of their group making a beeline for Ralph Santiago. The two older boys came on the scene just in time to see Ralph look up and acknowledge A.J.'s presence.

"Hey, Ralph?"

The junior glanced at his table mates, looking for support. Lee just sat back and folded his arms, while one or two of the others whispered together, grinning and nudging. Seeing no response from his new group, he turned back to A.J. and asked, "Yeah, kid? What do you want?"

A.J. smiled at Jason's roommate. "Just wanted to say that you really shouldn't believe everything you hear, you know. People might think you're gullible." He gave the stunned junior a little wave, and added, "See you later, Ralph." Then he hurried off to where Xavion, Qaeshon, and Alan were standing by the doors.

Fermat and Jason glanced at each other, and broke into huge grins. They followed in A.J.'s wake, with Jason pausing only long enough to point emphatically at Ralph and crow, "Owned!"

"What happened?" Qaeshon wanted to know as the trio caught up. "What did you say to Ralph?"

"I just gave him a little piece of advice," A.J. said in a modest tone.

"And totally owned him!" Jason exclaimed with a grin. He thumped A.J. on the back. "A.J., you rock!"

Alan and Fermat exchanged grins, as Jason explained what A.J. had done. _These are the best kinds of friends_, Alan realized. _And to think, I might not have them if I hadn't come back to Wharton._

xxxx

"Y-You wanted to s-see me, Mr. T-Tracy?" Brains asked as he walked into Jeff's office.

"Yes, Brains," Jeff said, indicating that his engineer sit down. The tall, thin man did, and Jeff leaned over to hand him a data pad. "I just got Alan's track schedule. I've marked the possible weekends where we could get away to see both Fermat and Alan compete."

Brains looked over the data pad, then glanced up at Jeff. "The f-first date is j-just next week..."

Jeff grinned. "My thought exactly. I'll make the arrangements. Now, how are the modifications to the Firefly going?"

"I've st-still got a ways to g-g-g... there's st-still more to do," Brains admitted. "I think we'll h-have to utilize the same m-material we use in Thunderbird Th-Three's viewports. It should have a h-high enough h-heat-resistance i-index."

"Pull Virgil in on this," Jeff told him. "He can do any computer legwork you need."

"R-Right."

"Now, as for the boys at school, should we tell them that we're coming and when, or should we surprise them?"

Brains thought that over for a moment. "I'm n-not sure. Letting them know w-would give them s-something to look forward t-to, but I like the i-idea of s-s-s... showing up u-unannounced, too."

"Then give it some more thought and get back to me on it. I'll go with whatever you decide."

Brains looked surprised at this. "O-Okay, M-Mr. Tracy, I w-will. Is that all?"

"Yes, Brains. I'll let you get back to work." Jeff sat back, smiling as he watched his engineer leave the room. Then he turned to his computer and began to set up the flight plan for their upcoming jaunt to Massachusetts.

xxxx

The rest of the evening was quiet. Alan went back to his room to do his homework, and when Lee returned, the senior glanced around, grabbed a warmer jacket, and took himself and his study materials somewhere else. Alan sighed with relief when Lee left. He had seen the emails with the training vids Coach Evans had sent him, and didn't know if he'd have time to watch them if he had to go elsewhere to study. As it was, he only had time to watch one before Lee returned, minutes before curfew. Alan put his laundry bag out for collection, and grimaced when he looked into the nearly empty fridge for a bedtime snack.

_I'll place the grocery order in the morning, if I can find the time,_ he decided as he reset his alarm clock for an earlier hour. _I can already see that this new training and practice schedule is going to be rough._

Over in Maplewood, A.J. and Fermat were still discussing the main topic of dinner conversation.

"What do you think was in that syringe?" A.J. asked as he put away homework from one subject and pulled out the materials for another.

Fermat shook his head. "I d-don't have a cl-cl-cl... any idea. But I c-can hazard a g-guess." He looked over at his roommate. "D-Drugs or st-steroids of some s-s-s... kind."

"Yeah, but why?" the younger boy asked. "I mean, wouldn't drugs affect performance?"

"D-Depends on what they are," Fermat replied, returning his gaze to his computer screen. "St-Steroids can i-improve performance to a c-certain extent."

"Hmm. Still doesn't make sense to me," A.J. remarked.

"Me either."

xxxx

Alan slept poorly that night, his combined worries running around and around in his head, drawing a tighter and tighter circle that he could not see a way out of. For a long time, he lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Lee's steady breathing beneath him.

_What can Zave do? What will Coach say? What would happen if it's proven that Sugi's doping? Would he be expelled?_ Alan groaned internally. _How did this all get so complicated?_

He shifted onto his side and closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable. _I hate these kinds of complications. All I've wanted to do is become a Thunderbird... but... I think I see now that there's more to life. And not all of it's fun, either. Like now._

The next thing he knew, his alarm went off, and he reached over sleepily to smack the "snooze" button. Then it occurred to him that he had somewhere to be, and he rolled out of bed with a groan. Literally rolled out, landing in a crouch on the floor. Lee was already gone.

Thankful for small favors, he dressed for the cold morning air and headed out for a light breakfast.

The dining hall was sparsely populated. Alan sat down at a table by himself, but he wasn't alone long. Erik joined him, sitting down across the table.

"Hey, Alan," Erik said cordially.

"Hi, Erik," Alan replied. He took a gulp of milk, and contemplated his teammate. He didn't know if he should bring up the rumor or not; if Erik hadn't heard it, Alan didn't want to be the one to spread it around.

"These early mornings runs are going to be a bear, aren't they?" Erik said casually. "I hate getting up before the sun."

"Me, too." Alan nodded. "It's going to be pretty nippy, too, if the weather continues the way it's been."

"Yeah," Erik said in agreement.

They ate in silence for a few moments, then Erik cleared his throat. "I, uh, I heard something about you yesterday, and I wanted to know if it were true."

Alan gave his teammate a sharp look. "What was it, exactly? What did you hear?"

Erik looked away for a moment, directing his eyes to the walls for a while before bringing his gaze back to Alan briefly. He shrugged a little as he met Alan's eyes briefly. "That you were... um... gay." The last word was all but whispered.

Alan sat back, his shoulders slumping. He groaned, "I thought so." Shaking his head, he sighed. "The rumor's not true. I'm most definitely, emphatically not gay."

"Oh." Erik said, startled. Alan could have sworn he'd heard a disappointed tone in his teammate's voice. "Okay."

The pair went back to eating, and were nearly finished when Xavion came up to them. He nodded at Erik, who acknowledged the nod with a, "Hey," then sat down next to Alan.

"I told Coach what you told me last night," he said. "He wants to hear it from you, now."

Erik glanced from one teen to the other, his expression one of curiosity. Alan nodded slowly. "I'm coming." He rose from the table, finishing off his milk as he stood.

"I'll take care of your tray," Erik offered. His voice sounded hopeful, as if he wanted to know what was going on.

"Thanks," Alan replied gratefully.

"S'okay." Erik nodded, and Alan left with Xavion, his stomach tying up in knots as the older boy led him out of the dining hall and to the gym, where the coaches had their offices.

Xavion knocked on the door and Coach Evans's voice sounded out. "Come in."

The senior nodded at Alan, who opened the door slowly and stepped inside. Xavion followed and closed the door behind them.

"Sit down, Alan," Coach Evans said, gesturing to a chair. Alan was a little surprised; up until now the coach had only used his last name, not his first.

The older man saw his expression and smiled slightly. "I find I need something to keep you separate from your brother, Gordon. Somehow, when I think 'Tracy', I don't think of blond and track team; I think of dark hair and swim team." His face took on a serious look, and he pulled out a small recording device, and a data pad. "I'm going to record our conversation, and I'll be making notes as well. This is a very serious matter, so I want you to remember every detail that you can. Now, tell me what happened that made you go to Xavion here and ask him what you did."

Alan sat and thought for a minute, then proceeded to tell the coach what he had seen.

"You didn't see him actually use the syringe?"

Alan shook his head. "No, sir."

"Have you seen any vials or small bottles in the trash?"

At this, Alan frowned. "No, sir. I haven't. I didn't think to look."

Coach Evans nodded and made a note on his data pad. "Have you and Lee Sugimoto been on good terms?"

Alan slumped back into the chair. "No, Coach. We haven't. We've been having some... differences, so much so that I'm trying to get my room changed."

"Mm hmm," the man commented, making another note. He looked up at Alan again. "What was your first reaction in this situation?"

"I... I didn't know what to think," Alan said hesitantly. "But I didn't want to think the worst. I asked Su... I asked Lee if he needed medication, like insulin or something. Told him I'd like to know in case he needed help."

"And what was his response?"

"That it wasn't any of my business."

The coach made another note. He glanced up to lock eyes with Alan. "What else did you say?"

Alan shrugged. "Nothing. We went on to other matters."

Coach Evans now glanced over at Xavion, who had stood next to the desk, arms folded. He turned back to Alan. "Xavion tells me that he thinks Lee has changed over the summer. Do you agree or disagree with this?"

Alan breathed out sharply through his nose. "I couldn't say. I didn't know Lee last year. He seemed friendly enough when we started rooming together, but now... now it's all gone sour." He looked at Xavion, then back at the coach. "The problem we're having... I think he's being really vindictive, but I don't know if that's normal for him."

The coach frowned. "Hmm. Vindictive is not a word I've heard used to describe Lee Sugimoto." He glanced at his watch. "Xavion, you'd better get out there and round up your team for that run. Alan, I'd like to talk more with you later about this. After practice this evening."

"Yes, sir." Alan rose from his chair. "Can I go now?"

The man nodded. "Go. Remember, after practice."

Alan nodded, and followed the team captain out. He blew out a sigh of relief.

"That was rough," he commented to his companion. "Do you think he believed me?"

Xavion shook his head. "I dunno, Pinky. It's a serious accusation and he's gonna want every detail of why you and Lee are on the outs."

Alan groaned. "And I promised not to tell about Trey..."

"Hmm. I'd say you're between a rock and a hard place there, Pinky," Xavion said sympathetically.

"Doing the right thing isn't ever easy, is it?" Alan asked.

"If it was, everyone would do it," Xavion said with a shrug. He looked up ahead to where the rest of the track team waited, stretching, getting ready for their run. Sugi was not among them, having already taken the soccer team out.

"Okay, guys. Let's go," Xavion said. Alan fell into step with the others as they jogged off for their first morning run.

xxxx

The chilly air and the pace Xavion set helped Alan to clear his head. He focused on keeping up with the pack, aware of his muscles and how they moved, feeling every breath he took and actually realizing when he switched from one type of breathing to another. By the time they were finished, he was warm and sweaty, ready for a hot shower before classes. He noticed for the first time that most of the other team members had brought their clothes and books with them, leaving them in the locker rooms so they didn't have to go back to their dorms. Alan mentally made a note to do the same the next day.

He hurried back to Chetwood, taking the steps out front two at a time. He knocked, and getting no response, walked in to find the room empty. Glancing at his clock, he swore and stripped on the way to the shower, which he made as short as he could and still feel like he was clean. He dressed quickly, a skill he had learned over the summer while working with his family on emergency calls, and was out the door again within fifteen minutes. He sprinted through the Student Union building, heading for his classroom, and ending up being the last person to walk through the door, barely on time. Fermat glanced over at him with a questioning look on his face, and Alan gave him a quick, reassuring smile.

The day went downhill from there. The knowledge that Lee was going to see Mrs. Belvedere, coupled with the talk he knew he would have with Coach Evans after practice, made him feel as if something major was going to be dropped on him; something he couldn't control. It left him distracted in his academic classes, and more than once a teacher had to say something to bring his attention back to the subject at hand. He told Fermat not to expect him at lunch; a proclamation that left the younger boy stunned.

"Alan, you n-n-never miss a m-meal," Fermat said, uncomprehendingly. He paused, then amended his statement. "Well, n-not unless you're s-s-s... ill."

"Yeah, well, the way my stomach is tied up in knots right now, I doubt I'd eat much anyway," Alan replied. "Besides, I know what the main topic of conversation will be and I just don't want to talk about it, okay? I'll grab a snack and try to get a little homework done." He smiled slightly. "Don't worry. I'll be there for dinner, promise."

"O-Okay, Alan," Fermat said, frowning. "I'll s-see you in S-Spanish."

"Right."

Alan spent his lunch hour in his room, munching on some trail mix and emailing his grocery order to the store. He got confirmation that his request had been received and he could expect his order that evening after seven. The trail mix took the edge off what little appetite he had, but he had the feeling of impending doom. While his roommate was gone, he took the opportunity to look in the trashcans for signs of the small bottles or vials that Coach Evans had mentioned. There were none.

The high point of the day was Strength Training. Mr. Beccara asked for volunteers to be his "guinea pigs" as he began to demonstrate the various pieces of equipment and how to do the associated exercises on each. Alan volunteered, and after just a few demonstration, the teacher turned to him and asked, good humoredly, "Have you done this before or are you just a natural?"

"I've done it before. My brothers taught me how over the summer," Alan explained with a sheepish grin.

Mr. Beccara chuckled. "So I see. Let's demonstrate some more, then I'd like to talk to you about being a spotter."

"Yes, sir," Alan replied, and the class went on from there. As the other students began to use the weights and the Nautilus equipment, Mr. Beccara had Alan helping his fellow classmates one-on-one, correcting them on their lifts, and making sure they weren't overloading the weight bars.

"You're going to be a big help to me, Alan," Mr. Beccara said at the end of class.

"Thanks, Mr. Beccara, but I really need to work on my own strength training, too," Alan explained. "I'll need it for track. In fact, I haven't been able to do any since I got here and I feel like I'm losing what tone I have."

"Don't worry about that, Alan," the teacher assured him. "I'll give you a permanent pass to use the equipment during the evening hours. There are usually other, older students and even teachers here who can spot you, or you can bring someone along to do that if you like. Perhaps you and one of the other boys here can spot each other."

Alan smiled. "That's sounds great, Mr. Beccara! Thanks!"

"I'll have the pass ready for you tomorrow."

For the first time all day, Alan's heart felt lighter, but a glimpse of Lee Sugimoto striding across the academic quad toward the administration building tied his stomach up in knots all over again. The knots didn't ease during Spanish, where Fermat kept a watchful eye on him, nor during Adolescent Literature, his final class for the day.

He sighed as he left the classroom building. Fermat was waiting for him outside, and Alan took his friend's bookbag so they could walk back to Maplewood together.

"A-Any news from Ms. B-Belvedere?"

"Not yet." Alan shifted his backpack to distribute the weight of his and his friend's books more evenly. "I saw Sugi heading for her office just before Spanish. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation."

"You p-probably would have been sw-sw-swatted," Fermat said, attempting to bring some levity into the matter. "B-Besides, fl-flies don't understand E-English."

Alan snorted. "And how would you know?"

"They have t-t-t... minuscule brains," his friend said confidently. "Some of our cl-cl-cl... fellow students have br-brains thousands, maybe m-millions of times that size, and th-they don't understand E-English either."

This made Alan chuckle, and he reached out to punch Fermat gently in the shoulder. The younger boy brought his one good fist up and feinted a jab or two, which Alan answered with both of his. The play boxing might have continued for a while longer if someone hadn't tackled Alan from behind, bringing him heavily to the ground!

_

* * *

Who is attacking Alan? What went on with Sugi and Ms. Belvedere? Will Ralph come around? Will the Thunderbirds get a rescue call? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	22. Unprovoked

_Author's note: _Who attacked Alan and why. Fallout from the attack, and a phone call home. Thanks to Hobbeth for being a sounding board and for betareading. To my anonymous reviewers, many thanks, and yes, it is sometimes hard to come up with these titles. Fortunately one of the online dictionaries has a wildcard function,which helps a lot. Thanks for asking!

_Of special note:_ There is now a black and white, manga-style drawing of _The White Winds_ boys at my Photobucket account. A color version will be posted later. Link to it is in my profile.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Hey!" Fermat exclaimed. He dropped his laptop in the grass, and waded into the fracas, straddling the legs of the two, grabbing at Alan's assailant's jacket with his good hand. 

The impact from his attacker's grab caused Alan to drop his backpack and, as he instinctively brought his forearms around to break his fall, Fermat's bookbag went sailing. He tried to pull a scraped knee upward so he could shove himself to one side, off of the cement walkway. He succeeded; he and his attacker went rolling into the grass.

Unfortunately, their legs got tangled up in Fermat's, and the younger boy went down, too. He let go of his grip on the jacket with a startled cry, flailing about. He fell into the grass, intentionally twisting to one side as he remembered his cast. His glasses were knocked from his face. Alan and his assailant rolled once more until Alan swung an elbow into the other boy's ear. The attacker howled, and broke his hold. Alan pushed himself away, crab walking backwards a few steps until he could regain his footing. Swaying, he got to his feet and watched as Trey Mackenzie did the same.

"Fermat! You okay?" he shouted to his friend, while keeping an eye on the upperclassman.

"I think s-s-so!" Fermat replied as he pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan. A crowd was gathering, and someone picked up Fermat's glasses, returning them to him, as others helped him to his feet.

Trey, thinking Alan was distracted, tried to tackle him again, this time from the front. But Alan noticed the movement and stepped into the older boy's guard, delivering a sound punch to the gut that doubled Trey over. Then the younger boy jumped aside and let momentum carry his attacker forward. The senior fell to the ground, clutching his belly.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Mackenzie?" Alan cried, watching his opponent carefully, settled into a slight crouch as Scott had taught him, ready for another onslaught. A couple of students from the crowd advanced to help Trey, squatting down to pull the senior into a sitting position, while Fermat, and a just arrived Qaeshon, stepped in as back up for Alan.

"B-Bastard!" Trey wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "Liar! You said you wouldn't tell Belvedere! But you lied! You told her! And now I'll be expelled!"

"What?" Alan exclaimed, incredulous. "You're crazy! I didn't tell her anything!"

"You talked to her! You must have told her!" Trey was breathing easier now, though he was still holding his belly. "She called me to her office; said she had something she wanted to discuss with me. When I got there, she told me she knew about my... problem and would be calling my dad!" He paused to swallow. "Who else could have told her?"

"Sugi, that's who!" Qaeshon cried. "He had an appointment with her today himself!"

"Sugi wouldn't do that to me!" Trey retorted. "He's my friend! Friends don't rat on each other!"

Just then the crowd parted, and Mr. Magnuson approached, followed by Mr. Culp, and Ms. Bell. Alan straightened, and Trey climbed to his feet with help. Mr. Culp began breaking up the crowd while Ms. Bell approached Trey to examine him.

"All right," the security chief asked gruffly. "What's going on here?"

Alan and Fermat exchanged glances and sighed.

xxxx

Jeff was at the breakfast table, finishing up his second cup of coffee when the phone rang. Kyrano went to answer it, the retainer's voice a slight murmur when compared to the laughter of Scott and Gordon, who was feeling much better. Suddenly, the boys hushed, their gaze shifting as Kyrano brought the phone to Jeff.

"It is the school, Mr. Tracy. There has been an incident."

xxxx

"Coach is gonna kill me," Alan moaned softly. "Right after Dad does." He shook his head in despair.

Fermat rolled his eyes. "Y-Your father is n-not going to k-k-k... murder you," he said. "This wasn't your f-fault."

"I hope I can convince him of that," Alan replied. He craned his neck to try and see outside the infirmary's treatment room. "What do you think is going on?"

"I d-don't know," Fermat replied. He took off his glasses and peered at them critically. "These feel f-f-f... strange. I wonder if they're w-warped or something."

"Let me see," Alan said, taking the lenses from his friend's hands. "Hmm," he said as he squinted at the temples. "One of the hinges seems to be bent." He handed them back to Fermat. "I hope we can get them fixed."

"M-Me, too."

Ms. Bell came back in, a tray with bandages, small towels, and tubes of cleanser and salve on a tray. She pulled an adjustable bed table over to the examining couch, and put her burden down, then she took a fresh examination gown out of a drawer, handing it to him. "Okay, Alan. Take off your pants and put this on. I need to get to those knees. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Alan sighed, and got down from the couch. He pulled his slacks down and handed them off to Fermat. He slid his arms into the gown, shirt and all, and Fermat helped him tie it in the back. Then Alan gingerly got back up on the examining bed. He looked in disgust at the knees of his trousers, which were bloodstained and ripped. "I'll have to buy a new pair," he muttered.

"Ready in there?" Ms. Bell called.

"Ready."

She came in and put on a pair of medical gloves. "Lie down for me, Alan, so I don't have to lean over."

Alan lay back, putting his arms behind his head as she began to dab at the ugly scrapes with antibacterial cleanser. Her ministrations made Alan hiss, drawing his breath in through his teeth.

"Cold, is it?" she asked, looking him in the eye.

"Yeah. It's cold."

"Sorry about that." She continued to dab at the scrapes, wetting them thoroughly with cleaner soaked cotton balls. "Too bad about the pants. They're not really repairable. Fortunately, your knees are." She stopped and looked critically at her work. "I think that's clean. Just some salve and a bandage, then I'll do the other one."

As she was working, Mr. Magnuson came into the room, followed by a New Ashford police officer. Ms. Bell gave them a quick glance. "Go ahead and sit up to talk with these men. I'll do the other knee when you've finished."

"Alan, this is Officer Vega," Mr. Magnuson said. He turned to the other man. "This is Alan Tracy, and that's Fermat Hackenbacker."

"Hey," Alan said, extending his hand.

"H-Hello," Fermat said, following suit. The officer shook Alan's hand, then Fermat's. He pulled out a PDA, and began to scroll down through his notes.

"I already have the statements that you gave Mr. Magnuson, as well as the reports from a couple of eyewitnesses. It's pretty clear that Mr. Mackenzie was the instigator and that you were acting in self-defense, Alan." He looked up to catch Alan's eye. "The question is: will you be pressing charges?"

"Charges?" Alan asked, a puzzled frown on his face.

"Yes. Mr. Mackenzie can be arrested for simple assault," the officer explained. "I have to know whether or not to arrest him."

Alan paled; he looked troubled and shocked. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know," he said softly. "I never thought about that."

Fermat glanced at Alan, then asked, "Wh-What would h-happen to him?"

"To Mr. Mackenzie?" Officer Vega asked. When Fermat nodded, the policeman replied, "He would be tried as an adult, seeing as he's already eighteen. If convicted, he could go to jail for up to two and a half years, or pay a fine of up to $1000."

This just increased Alan's shock and turned it to near horror. Looking up at the officer, he asked, "Can I talk to my dad about this?"

Officer Vega nodded. "Sure. But don't take too long."

"Here," Mr. Magnuson said, holding out his satellite phone. "Use this phone to call him. He's already heard from me, and very likely from Mrs. Belvedere as well."

"Okay. Thanks."

"I'll do the other knee now, Alan," Ms. Bell said. "Just lie back again." Alan nodded. Ms. Bell helped him bring his legs up onto the bed as he obeyed her. He began to dial his father's number.

The phone rang twice, and suddenly, his father's face appeared on the screen. "Alan! Are you all right?"

"Hey, Dad," Alan replied with relief. He pressed the phone to his ear. "I'm okay. I guess you heard what happened."

"Yes, son, I did," Jeff's tone was serious, but not accusing. "Mr. Magnuson called me. He said that you were attacked and defended yourself."

"That's about the gist of it," Alan said. He hissed again as Ms. Bell touched a particularly tender spot.

"Alan?" Jeff asked, waiting for an explanation.

"I'm all right, Dad. Ms. Bell's cleaning up my scrapes. It just smarts a little."

There was a pause, then Jeff asked, "How's Fermat? Is he all right?"

Alan glanced over at his friend, who was sitting in a chair near the wall, out of Ms. Bell's way. "Fermat? Yeah, he's okay." Fermat looked up, a surprised look on his face. "But I think his glasses might need repair."

"I'll get the name of a local optometrist. Does he have a spare?"

"Hey, Fermat!" Alan called. "Did you bring your spare pair of glasses?"

"Y-Yeah. I did."

"Cool." Alan turned his attention back to his father. "He's got one."

"Good." Jeff paused, then asked, "Do you need me to come?" An unspoken "do you _want_ me to come?" was evident in his voice.

"I don't know yet, Dad. I'm thinking about it." Alan sighed. "I called because I need your advice."

"What is it? How can I help?"

"Well, the New Ashford police want to know if I'm going to press charges. I... I don't know what to tell them."

"Hmm." On the island, Jeff sat back in his chair. "That's a difficult question, son. I think it would depend on how badly he hurt you, and if you think he would be a danger to others."

"He didn't have much chance to hurt me," Alan admitted. "And... I don't think he'll be hurting anyone on campus again." He glanced over at Mr. Magnuson as he said, "I think he's been expelled." The security chief nodded slightly, confirming Alan's guess.

"Well, the choice is yours, Alan. But make it carefully. You have to weigh this boy's future against the good of society in general."

"I will, Dad."

There was a pause, then Jeff asked again, "So, do you want me to come?"

Alan thought about it some more, and shook his head, then remembering that the phone was at his ear, he said, "Well, I wouldn't _mind_ it, but I don't think it's absolutely necessary. I'm good."

Jeff smiled slightly. The realization that his son was growing up, and growing away from him, stung now, the pain bittersweet as he acknowledged the inevitability of the situation.

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure, Dad. But thanks for the offer." Alan heard the undercurrent of disappointment in his father's voice, and spoke softly, "I'm okay, Dad. Really."

"I believe you, Alan. Just my fatherly instincts coming into play, that's all."

Jeff paused for a moment. _Should I tell him? I think so; I think he needs something to look forward to._ His voice brightened as he said, "I'll be seeing you at the end of next week anyway. Brains and I are coming to visit."

"Really?" Alan's delight couldn't be more evident. "To see a meet?"

Jeff chuckled. "Yes, yes. To see both you and Fermat in action."

"Oh, man! That will be soooo awesome! I can hardly wait!"

"I'm looking forward to it, too, Alan." Jeff grinned at his son's reaction. _This was the right decision, and I'm sure Brains will concur. Maybe we can surprise the two of them later on._

Officer Vega peered into the treatment area, and Alan nodded to him. "Dad, I've got to go. Thanks for the advice. I appreciate it."

"Email or call me later with what you decided, okay?" Jeff instructed. "I need to know if there are any legal matters to be dealt with on our end."

"Right, Dad," Alan replied. "I'll talk with you later."

"Later, son."

"Okay. Bye." Alan hung up the phone and, as the security head and the police officer came back into the cubicle, he handed it to Mr. Magnuson.

"Well, Alan," Officer Vega asked. "Have you come to a decision?"

Alan nodded. "I have. I'm not pressing charges."

The policeman frowned slightly. "Are you sure?"

Alan nodded again, just once. "I'm sure."

"All right." The officer turned to Mr. Magnuson. "I guess we'd better tell Mr. Mackenzie the good news."

The two men left, and Ms. Bell shucked her gloves. "There, all done." Alan looked down at his knees - both covered with wide pieces of gauze that were taped on securely - as the nurse practitioner began her instructions. "I'm going to give you some more gauze, tape, and the rest of this tube of antibacterial ointment. For the next couple of days, I expect you to smear some on after you shower, then put a fresh bandage on. You don't have to come back when you run out. But don't pick at the scabs!"

"Yes, ma'am," Alan responded. He looked thoughtful, then asked, "Will I be able to go to track practice?"

"You can, but not this afternoon. I'll give you an excuse for the coach," Ms. Bell said. "See Sandy for the rest of your paperwork." She paused, then added, "And Ms. Belvedere would like to see you in her office." Picking up Alan's slacks, she smiled. "I'd stop by the dorm and change clothes, if I were you."

"I will."

"All right. You're free to go. Please try and stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Alan replied with a grin. She left the cubicle, pulling the curtain back over. He swung his legs around, and took off the gown, then began to slide his legs into the ruined trousers.

"What were you a-all e-e-e... hyper about?" Fermat asked as he began to gather their belongings.

"Oh man!" Alan said, grinning with excitement. "You're never going to believe it! Our dads are coming to see us compete!"

"What? When?" Fermat asked, his eyes wide with delight.

"Next week," Alan answered as he gingerly lowered himself to the floor. He fastened his pants, not bothering to tuck in his shirt tails, and picked up his backpack. "You want me to take your book bag?"

Fermat shook his head. "N-No. I can h-handle it." He pulled back the curtain, and the two boys made their way to the infirmary's front desk. "Next w-week? Are you sure?"

"Yeah! That's what my dad told me," Alan replied. He limped slightly, his knees still smarting from their injuries. They stopped by the desk, where Sandy gave them a smile.

"Here's your paperwork, Alan," the assistant said, holding out three printed sheets. "One is the note for Coach Evans, one is your treatment instructions, and the other is the acknowledgment of services." He held out a paper bag. "Here are the things Ms. Bell says you're to use." He pulled another piece of paper out of the printer and handed it to Fermat. "Just in case you need an excuse."

"Thanks," Alan replied.

"Y-Yeah, th-thanks," Fermat echoed.

"You're welcome," Sandy said simply. He turned back to the computer on his desk, and the two friends left the infirmary.

"At least Sugi won't be in the room when we get there," Alan commented as they walked slowly along to Chetwood.

"R-Right," Fermat said, nodding. "You won't have t-to put up with his t-teasing."

"Or worse."

They climbed the steps to the lobby and Alan held open the door for the more heavily-laden Fermat. Not for the first time was Alan glad his room was on the first floor; it made everything so much easier. He didn't bother to knock this time, just put his hand up to the door's scanner, unlocked the room, then entered. As he had surmised, Sugi wasn't there.

"Thanks for sticking with me, Fermat, and for sticking up for me," Alan said sincerely. "I know you did what you could to stop Trey, and I appreciate it a lot."

Fermat smiled sheepishly. "Well, wh-what are f-f-f... b-b-b... p-pals for?"

Alan chuckled, and gave Fermat a playful jab to the upper arm, then went to change his slacks.

xxxx

"Jeff?" Brains said as he came to the office. "Wh-Wh-Wh... How are the b-boys?"

Jeff looked up at his engineer, and smiled at the sound of his first name. "Well, I can tell _you're_ concerned. Sit down." He waved a hand toward the chairs by the desk.

"Alan called me a little bit ago. He wanted my advice on a legal matter."

"L-Legal matter?" Brains, in the process of seating himself, paused halfway to the chair's cushion and looked up sharply.

"Yes," Jeff replied. Brains's rear end resumed its downward motion, and he settled himself, crossing one lanky knee over the other. Jeff continued. " He wanted to know if he should press charges against the boy who attacked him."

"And w-will he?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think he will. I tried to impress on him to try and balance the needs of society against the future of the boy. I'm pretty sure he got the message."

"What about F-F-Fermat?"

Jeff steepled his fingers. "Alan said that Fermat was all right, but did say that Fermat's glasses were damaged somehow." He laced his fingers together and lay them on his abdomen. "Alan was only scraped up. It seems the other boy got the worst of it."

Brains sighed with relief. "I'm so g-g-g... happy to h-hear that they weren't s-s-s... badly injured."

"No, they weren't, and I'm thankful," Jeff agreed. "Alan said he didn't need me coming right now, but I did tell him that we'd be visiting next week. I figured that would give them something to look forward to, and we could surprise them later in the school year."

Brains nodded. "I understand. G-Good call."

Both men looked upwards as a loud beeping began to sound.

"No rest for the weary," Jeff quipped. He put on a headset with a microphone, then opened a drawer and pressed his hand onto the scanner there. When the scanner's light turned green, he said, "Activate command and control. Access code, Mercury seven dash two dash five."

A feminine voice intoned, "Access code confirmed. Activating command and control."

The office began to transform into the command center of International Rescue as Scott, followed closely by Gordon, hurried in. Jeff opened communications with Thunderbird Five.

"International Rescue base to Thunderbird Five." Jeff glanced up quickly as Virgil walked in, wiping his paint stained hands on a rag.

"Thunderbird Five to base," John replied, his handsome face appearing on Jeff's monitor.

"What do you have for us, John?" Jeff asked as preparations for another rescue got underway.

xxxx

Slacks changed, shirt tucked in, Alan hobbled as quickly as he could to Ms. Belvedere's office. He couldn't help feeling the need to limp; bending his knees was painful, though not unbearably so. He did take the steps in a normal fashion, if at a slower pace. Fermat had gone back to his own dorm to find his spare glasses, and start his homework.

The receptionist wasn't in the anteroom when he arrived, but the door to the inner office was open. He reached out, knocking gently on the door, and Ms. Belvedere raised her head from her computer screen to see him standing there.

"Come in, Mr. Tracy," she said coolly. "Close the door behind you."

"Yes, ma'am." Alan obeyed, and sat down in one of the chairs before the desk. He said nothing more, waiting for Ms. Belvedere to speak. His stomach began to tighten into knots as it had whenever he had crossed paths with the director of student affairs. He discreetly moistened his suddenly dry upper lip with his tongue, and sat up very, very straight.

Ms. Belvedere regarded him for a long moment, then asked, "How long did you know about Mr. Mackenzie's little problem?"

"Since Saturday, ma'am," he answered promptly. _Feels like a month instead of four days. _

"Hmm." She looked at him shrewdly. "Why didn't you mention this as part of your reason for wanting a dormitory transfer?"

Alan's shoulders slumped a little. "I promised to keep quiet about it," he replied resignedly. "Besides, it didn't seem fair to tell you once Trey himself got involved in the room change request. He was willing to accommodate Dom and me so it wouldn't be necessary to tell anyone."

"Are you sure you didn't know about this before? That perhaps you learned of it last year somehow?" she pressed.

Alan frowned, puzzled. "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure. I didn't hang around with seniors last year; I wasn't a jock or anything. It's just this year, since Lee Sugimoto became my roommate, that I learned about Trey's smoking."

"That's interesting," Ms. Belvedere said, raising an eyebrow. "Because I was told that you knew all along about Mr. Mackenzie's habit and were allowing Trey to smoke in your room."

Alan's eyes widened. "What!" he cried. He jumped to his feet, shaking his head furiously, swinging his arms and just stopping himself from childishly stomping a foot. "No way, Ms. Belvedere! No way! I didn't know anything about Trey's smoking until I came back to the dorm Saturday afternoon and found Sugi airing out the room, spraying freshener all over the place." He huffed out an exasperated breath. "I can't believe Sugi would..." He stopped and got control of himself. "No, I take that back. I _can_ believe it. I _know_ he'd lie about it. Just like he's spread that ugly rumor about me being gay and all. He'll do or say anything to keep out of trouble!"

Raising his gaze to hers, he pleaded, "Ma'am, please, please believe me! I knew nothing about Trey's habit until this past Saturday. And I would _never_ let him smoke in our room; I hate the smell of cigarettes!"

"Sit down and calm yourself, Mr. Tracy," she said sharply. He sat down abruptly, putting his head in his hands. When he had calmed down, he sat back and looked at her with a bleak expression.

"Now that you are calm again, I must tell you that I believe you." His eyes widened in hope and he opened his mouth to speak, but she put up a hand.

"Let me finish." He nodded, and she continued. "I could not understand why, if you were the one who permitted Mr. Mackenzie to smoke in your room, you wanted to room with Mr. Bertoli, and not request that Mr. Bertoli and Mr. Sugimoto be placed together. It didn't add up. That, and your reaction to my announcement just now, convinced me that you were not the culprit in this case." Her face became sad, and she spoke softly. "I am very disappointed that such a respected, courteous student could change to this degree."

Alan said nothing. _I don't want to get him into any more trouble than he is right now, not without cause. I still need to talk to Coach about that syringe._

"I understand that you are not pressing charges against Mr. Mackenzie," Ms. Belvedere said, bringing Alan's focus back to her.

"No, ma'am, I'm not," Alan replied soberly.

"May I ask why?"

Alan shifted uncomfortably. "Well, when I asked my Dad's advice, he said to balance Trey's life against the good of society. I know that if I pressed charges, that would give Trey a criminal record, one that would follow him all through life, whether he was convicted or not. I didn't think it was fair to do that to him. It's not like he goes around beating on people all the time. I mean, he was really angry, and wasn't thinking. I kinda put myself in his shoes, and I could see myself maybe doing the same thing." His voice got softer. "Besides, I know what it's like to have a second chance." He met her gaze with a steady one of his own. "I wanted to give him one."

She sat there silent for a long moment, then a small smile appeared on her face and she shook her head softly. "You continue to amaze me, Mr. Tracy. I don't know what happened to you over the summer, but it has been good for you."

"It actually started over spring break," Alan said, smiling back.

"I see." Ms. Belvedere turned back to her computer. She tapped three or four keys, and then turned back to him. "I am printing out the approval for your room change. With Mr. Mackenzie's departure, there is no reason why you shouldn't be able to move in with Mr. Bertoli."

Alan sat up, surprised and relieved. "Thank you, Ms. Belvedere."

"I will email a notification to Mr. Bertoli and to Mr. Sugimoto, as well as putting hard copies in their campus mailboxes. You can begin transferring your things as soon as I get a confirmation from Mr. Bertoli."

"Yes, ma'am." _Only one more night with Sugi... oh man, does that feel good!_

She got up and went out to the anteroom, leaving the door open. Alan heard her say, "I will be right with you," to someone, then she came back, a small sheaf of papers in her hand. She tamped them on the desk, then sorted them by twos and threes, sticking some of the smaller groups into an automatic stapler. She handed him one of those.

"Here is the order for your room change, as well as a copy of the incident report. I will be sending one of these to your father via airmail, as well as email. There is also an excuse from me to Coach Evans." She glanced up at him. "I understand you missed practice today because of the incident."

"Yes, ma'am. I did."

"Again, once I have confirmation from Mr. Bertoli, I will email you and you can begin to transfer your things." She sat back down in her chair. "You can go now, Mr. Tracy."

"Thanks again, Ms. Belvedere," Alan said, rising.

"You're welcome, Alan. I hope that this brings your current problems to a close."

He smiled at her. "I hope so, too, ma'am."

Folding the papers up so he could shove them in his back pocket, Alan stepped out of her office with a jaunty step, only to find himself facing Trey Mackenzie. He was sitting next to an older, balding man, with a jowly face and a paunch, someone who looked stern and scowling, his arms folded over his chest.

Alan walked by them, looking straight ahead, but stopped in his tracks when Trey called out, "Hey, Tracy."

Turning slowly, he replied with a terse, "Yeah, Mackenzie?"

Trey's father stared at Alan, as Trey rose to his feet. "I'm sorry for what happened. I talked with Ms. Belvedere; she wouldn't tell me who ratted on me, but she did tell me that it wasn't you."

"Okay."

Alan turned to go, but stopped when Trey added in a low, emotional voice, "And... thanks. For not pressing charges. I... appreciate it."

He bit his lower lip lightly, then sighed and glanced over his shoulder. "Everyone deserves a second chance," he said, sounding very much like his father. "Make good use of it." With that, he strode out of the room.

_

* * *

What kind of rescue are the boys on now? Will Dom hold up his end of the bargain? Will Alan get to talk to Coach Evans? What will he say? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	23. Unpredictable

_Author's note: _Fermat's POV. Alan vs. Sugi. A little chat with Dom. And the rescue commences. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Janet for being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Fermat was almost finished with his pre-engineering homework when A.J. walked into the room. The younger boy looked surprised to see him for a moment, and Fermat caught the look as he glanced up at his roommate. 

"H-Hey, A.J.," Fermat said. "Y-You look s-s-s... astonished."

"I am, a little," A.J. replied. "I heard about a fight... and that you were in it."

Fermat's rolled his eyes. "I w-was, sort of. Trey Mackenzie a-attacked A-A-A... Pinky. I tried to h-help A-Alan, but couldn't do much. Just g-got knocked over."

"Are you all right?" A.J. asked. "I heard you all went to the infirmary and there were policemen on campus..." His voice trailed off as an encouragement for Fermat to finish the tale.

And he did. A.J. listened raptly to Fermat's account, refraining from questioning his roommate until the story was through. Then the younger boy whistled, or tried to, and shook his head.

"Wow! That's wild!" he exclaimed. He sat back in his desk chair. "I suppose this means Alan can move now."

Fermat snorted a small laugh. "I d-didn't even th-think about that. But you're r-right. Now he can g-get away from S-Sugi."

Suddenly, there was a burst of music; Fermat couldn't identify it, but it sounded very classical to him. _I'll have to ask him what that was,_ he thought. _It sounded cool._ Andrew fished around on his desk and found his phone. He opened it, read the caller's identification, and his eyes lit up with delight.

"Dad!" he cried. Pushing the button to talk, he put the phone up to his ear and said, "Hi, Dad! Let me find my earphone!" He got up and hurried over to Fermat. "I'll only be a minute. Here, talk to my roommate while I look for it. His name's Fermat."

A.J. thrust the phone into the hands of a very confused and alarmed Fermat, then turned back to his desk and began to rummage around in a drawer. Fermat glanced down at the picture on the phone. Looking back at him was a distinguished looking man with a high forehead and dark hair going gray at the temples. Hesitantly, he put the phone to his ear, and said, "H-Hello, Mr. T-Trumbull. I'm F-Fermat Hackenbacker, A. J.'s - I m-mean, Andrew's – roommate.;"

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr... Hackenbacker, is it? Andrew has emailed me about you; he tells me you are his friend." The man's voice was smooth and practically without a regional accent. "He was leery at first about having a roommate at all; I am glad to hear that you and he are getting along so well."

"Y-Yes, sir," Fermat said politely. "We weren't on g-good terms to start with, b-but have worked th-things out, so n-now we're friends."

"Excellent!" Mr. Trumbull was pleased; Fermat could hear it. He glanced up to see A.J. returning, putting in his ear piece as he did.

"H-Here's Andrew," Fermat said as the younger boy stood beside him, his hand held out expectantly. "It was n-nice meeting you, s-sir."

"And you," Mr. Trumbull replied. "Goodbye, Mr. Hackenbacker."

"Goodbye." Fermat held out the phone to his roommate, who immediately switched the audio over to his earphone.

Fermat turned back to his books, and tried not to eavesdrop. He did hear one thing that A.J. told his father.

"Nah, Dad. He's not scared of you; that's just the way he always talks."

xxxx

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two. Scott? Anything?"

"Thunderbird One here. Nothing so far." Scott's voice sounded out over the speakers in Thunderbird Two's cockpit at Jeff's question.

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Two." John's face popped up on the communications screen. Jeff leaned over to speak to his son. "Anything yet?"

John shook his head. "No, not yet. There's too much EM interference over their last known position. The weather, I'd say."

Jeff smothered a soft curse, then sat up straighter. "Keep looking. Even if they went down, there's got to be some debris."

"F-A-B," Scott answered, echoed in a moment by John.

Jeff turned back to the scanners, keeping an eye out for the research vessel that had gone missing. The institute that was responsible for this particular cruise had acted quickly; they were on the radio asking for help as soon as communications and GPS contact were lost. They had also contacted the Royal Australian Navy, but that particular entity couldn't get to the ship's last known position as quickly as IR could. Helicopters from the Fleet Air Arm were on their way from their base in New South Wales to help in the search, but Jeff wondered if they would be of any use in the current weather.

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Two," Jeff said. "How's the weather looking?"

John shook his head. "Not too good. This is a pretty massive supercell."

"Stay on it, John. Give us updates every ten minutes; sooner if you see something amiss. We don't need any surprises."

"F-A-B."

"Gordon? Anything?" Jeff didn't look up from his scanner's screens to ask the question.

"Not so far, Dad," Gordon answered from the opposite copilot's chair. "This rain has visibility way down."

"Keep going. They have to be around here somewhere."

"How are you doing, Virgil?"

Virgil sat in the pilot's seat, his muscles tense. The bad thunderstorm that surrounded them was proving to be a challenge even to his piloting skills. "I'm good, Dad," he said, his voice terse. "I'll keep her in the air."

"Good man," Jeff said quietly. He couldn't let his attention drift from the screens before him. They had to find the ship. From what the institute had reported, the ship had deployed their Sealink submersible an hour and a half before communications were lost. That's why Thunderbird Four was loaded in the pod. It might be necessary to retrieve the Sealink and its four occupants with IR's own mini-sub. That was part of the reason why Gordon was also along for the ride, despite being not quite one hundred percent. Other than Alan, Gordon was best with Four.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One!" Scott's excited voice rang out over the airwaves. "I've found them!" He rattled off a string of coordinates. "I'm flying over to say hello."

The relief in Two's cockpit was palpable. "Good work, Scott," Jeff said. "We're on our way."

xxxx

A.J.'s conversation with his father was a long one, and the boy was probably more animated than Fermat had ever seen him.

_Makes me want to call home myself,_ he thought. _In fact, I think I will._

He pulled out his phone, and grabbed his jacket, sticking the phone in a pocket. "I-I'm going out. See you at d-dinner?"

A.J. nodded vigorously, and Fermat smiled as he left his room. In the elevator, he pulled his jacket on over his one good arm, clumsily zipping it up. Once outside, he took out his phone, stuck his earphone in, and speed-dialed a number that he already knew by heart.

The phone rang three or four times before it was picked up, and it was Onaha's face that appeared on his screen.

"H-Hey, Onaha," he said with a smile. "How are y-you?"

"I'm doing very well, Fermat dear," was her pleased response. "Are you all right? I hear you and Alan got into a bit of trouble today."

"Y-Yeah, we did, but I think it w-will work out for the b-b-b... good," he explained. He paused and asked, "Is my d-dad around?"

Onaha's smile went smaller, and softer. She said, "He is, Fermat, but the Tracys are out on 'family business' and have left him to... mind the store."

"Ah," Fermat replied, nodding in understanding. "Then p-please tell him I c-called and that... he's I-It!"

The housekeeper laughed. "I will tell him. You be careful, and stay healthy."

"I w-will. Goodbye, O-Onaha."

"Goodbye, Fermat."

The connection closed, and Fermat sighed as he removed his earphone. He tucked both ear piece and phone into his jacket pocket again. _I think I'll head for the dining hall. Dinner will be starting soon, and Alan will want to know that his family's out on another rescue._

His decision made, he tucked his uninjured hand into his pants pocket, and sauntered down the walk toward the cafeteria, the music from A.J.'s phone still ringing in his mind.

xxxx

Scott carefully eased his 'Bird downward, using the VTOL thrusters in short bursts. He was heading for the deck of the ship below. Sailors were out in foul weather gear, trying to clear a space for him to land.

"The deck looks bad, Dad," Scott said. "The frame to raise and lower the submersible is twisted, and the communication masts are all down. I don't know what happened, but whatever it was, it was pretty powerful. Hey, looks like they've got the deck cleared enough. They're waving me down."

"Be careful, son," Jeff replied.

"Always, Dad. Always."

He turned back to concentrate on his flying. The sailors moved out of the way quickly when it became apparent that his VTOLs had enough power to sweep someone overboard. The wind tried to move him off course, and the rain made visibility difficult, but in the end, he made it down. Securing the controls, he opened a locker at the back of his cockpit and brought out rain gear of his own. Donning it quickly, he climbed out of the rocket plane to find himself surrounded by the sailors.

"Cap'n wants to see you on the bridge," one of them shouted over the wind.

"Right. Let's go!" he shouted back. And with a cordon of sailors around him, he hurried up to the bridge, hoping to discover what had happened to this ship.

xxxx

Alan sauntered to the dining common, his hands in his pockets, deep in thought. He'd gotten an email from Coach Evans, telling him to be at the morning run and tomorrow's practice... or else be cut from the team. Sugi had returned while Alan was doing what little homework he had time for.

"Looks like you're not long for the team, Tracy," he had said with a snide tone to his voice. "Coach isn't very forgiving to those who skip practice."

"I had my reasons. I'll be there in the morning," Alan had retorted. "And tomorrow afternoon." He squashed hard the urge to answer back in kind, to tell Sugi that he wasn't the one who was going to be cut; Sugi was. _That's all up to the coach_, he reminded himself. _I'll tell him what I saw, and let him do the rest._

"They had better be really good reasons, Tracy," Sugi scoffed. "Just because your daddy is rich..."

Alan stood up suddenly, and whirled to face his roommate. His blue eyes flashed with anger as he said in a clear, cold voice, "Listen, pea brain. I don't know what you've got against my dad, but he wouldn't buy me a place on any team, at any time, anywhere. He wants us to work for what we get, just like he did. So, take your attitude toward my dad and his money and stuff it where the sun don't shine."

Sugi grinned and raised an eyebrow in challenge. "What'll you do if I don't?"

This brought Alan up short. He hadn't thought ahead that far. But a niggling little voice inside told him not to push it any farther, that making a threat at this point - particularly a physical threat - would destroy the tentative goodwill he'd established with Ms. Belvedere. And somehow, he knew he'd need that goodwill in the days to come.

Instead, he raised his own eyebrow, and backed down. "You aren't worth my time," he spat. "And after tonight, you won't be in my face, either." He turned around and went back to his desk.

"And what do you mean by that?" Sugi asked.

Alan gave him a look of contempt. "As if you didn't know. You were the one who ratted out Trey Mackenzie over his smoking problem. You tried to implicate me in it, but that backfired. And now Trey's been expelled, not only for the smoking, but for tackling me and trying to beat me up... in front of witnesses. I have permission to move out as of tomorrow."

"And how do you know it was me who ratted him out?" Sugi asked, turning to his closet and rummaging around in it, avoiding Alan's glare.

"The list of people who could have is pretty short. You and I were the only two involved that I know saw Ms. Belvedere recently. I know _I_ didn't do it, so who does that leave?" Alan closed his Spanish book and stood. Stepping over to his own closet, he pulled out his jacket and slipped it on. As he left to go to dinner, he stopped at the door. "By the way, Ms. Belvedere _did_ tell Trey that I didn't rat on him. So, who do _you_ think he's going to blame?"

With that parting shot, he was out the door and on his way to the dining hall. The air was nippy, and he could see his breath before his face. He made a mental note to wear athletic pants instead of shorts in the morning; it promised to be a chilly one.

When he entered the dining hall, he glanced around to find his usual crew. He spied Fermat's familiar blue glasses and made sure he knew where his friend was sitting before joining the food line.

He pulled a carrying tray from the pile at the end of the line and held it in both hands, ready to slide it onto the rails before the steam tables where the servers worked. There was plenty of room between him and the boy in front of him, but suddenly he was shoved from behind. He stumbled forward, and hit the kid in front of him, who had just accepted a plate of hot food from the server. The boy dropped the plate, barely jumping out of the way of the potatoes and gravy, which spattered all over him as the plate tipped on its way to the floor. It landed upside down, the food a oozing mess that was half on the floor and half on the victim's shoes.

"Hey! What'd you that for?" the kid asked, angry and affronted.

"I didn't!" Alan replied. He motioned to the people behind him. "I was pushed!"

"I didn't see anyone push him," said the tall boy behind Alan. He turned to ask his neighbors, "Did you?"

They all shook their heads, and answered variations on "No" before the tall boy turned back to the affronted student and shrugged.

By this time, Alan had figured out what was going on, and offered his own, clean tray to the boy, then grabbed some paper napkins and tried to help him clean off his shoes. He was pushed away by the boy himself, then by the maintenance man who had come at the request of the food servers.

"Move along, boys. You're holding up the line," the man said as he began to sweep the plate and food into a dustpan. Alan turned back to try and grab another clean tray, but they were too far back now, and the boy behind him gave him a hard nudge to move him forward. Fortunately, one of the servers saw him without a tray, and called to someone else in line to hand her one. He did, and she handed it to Alan, then gave him a plate of food.

"Be more careful next time!" she chided, a serious look on her face.

_Great, _Alan thought. _She didn't see him push me either._

He finished getting his food, and carried it over to where Fermat was sitting. Xavion and Qaeshon were already finished eating, and Jason was nearly done. Fermat was having an animated conversation across the table with A.J., who looked like he'd just gotten there. Alan set his tray down and slid into a chair next to Qaeshon.

"Hey, Pinky," Qaeshon said. "The Brain has filled us in on the trouble you had this afternoon. How'd things go with Ms. Belvedere?"

"Pretty good, actually," Alan admitted. "I have permission to move as of tomorrow."

"So Trey got the boot?" Xavion asked, frowning.

Alan sighed and nodded. " 'Fraid so, Zave. And in case you're wondering, I didn't rat on him."

"Who did?" Jason asked around a mouthful of chocolate cake.

Alan took a swallow of water, then said, "Ms. Belvedere didn't say for sure, but the only one I can think of would be Sugi. He saw her this afternoon, not long before Trey tackled me. And she made a comment about respected students changing, or something like that."

"I see," Jason replied. "So you can move out. That's good. I bet you'll be happy to get out of there."

"I sure will," Alan said, nodding. "All that's left now is for Dom to confirm that he wants me to move in, and it's all set."

"I can't see any reason why he wouldn't want to," Qaeshon commented. "Unless, of course, he'd just rather have a room to himself."

This brought Alan upright. "Damn. I didn't think of that! Do you think he'd go back on what he said?"

"Why don't you ask him? He's sitting over there," Jason suggested, pointing to the table across the wide aisle from them.

"Let me get some food in me and I will." Alan began to eat, barely tasting the food as it went down. As he stuffed his face, Xavion kept looking at him, still frowning. At last Alan swallowed a bite and asked, "What, Zave?"

Xavion took in a deep breath and let it out, then shrugged a little. "I don't know. The coach wanted to talk to you about Sugi, and you missed practice for the second time." He held up his hand, forefinger and thumb held just a small space apart. "You're this close to being cut from the team. Now, I know you had a legit reason for not making practice, but even that's not going to fly with Coach. You'd better make sure you're out to run first thing tomorrow and don't miss the practice, no matter what happens."

"I'll be there," Alan assured him. "I don't want to be cut."

"A-Alan?" Fermat adjusted his glasses back on his face.

"Yeah, Fermat?"

"I c-called home today and found out th-that your d-dad was away on f-family business."

Alan's eyes widened. "Really? Any idea where?"

Fermat shook his head. "N-No. My d-dad was left to m-mind the store."

It took Alan a moment to process the reference, then he nodded to his friend. "Thanks for telling me, Fermat. I'll call home as soon as I can."

"Hey, Pinky. Dom is getting up," Jason said. "Now is the time if you want to catch him."

"Thanks. I'll be right back." Alan wiped his mouth, and rose from the table, He hurried off in pursuit of Dom, who was chatting with his friends as they headed for the tray return. "Hey, Dom! Wait up!"

Dom turned at Alan's call, and his face fell. He stopped; one of his friends gave him a questioning look and Dom shook his head briefly. The friend went on and caught up to the others they had been sitting with, but the small group kept looking back at Dom, ready to support him if need be.

"Hi, Alan," Dom said carefully. He licked his lower lip nervously.

"Hey," Alan replied, an optimistic tone in his voice. "I guess you heard about Trey."

"Yeah. How could I not?" Dom replied. He took a deep breath. "Listen, Alan. I appreciate everything you did in getting rid of Trey..."

Alan cut in, putting his hands up in a gesture of denial. "Hey, I didn't rat him out. He thought I did, and that's why he made the mistake of coming after me. But I didn't do anything; Trey dug his own hole."

"Yeah, well," Dom replied, his voice showing that he didn't quite believe what Alan said. "Whatever happened, thanks." He looked around nervously and drew his upper lip in between his teeth. "I, uh, suppose you want to talk to me about moving in."

Alan smiled. "Yeah, I do. How does tomorrow sound?"

Dom glanced back to his friends. "Uh, hey. I've got to go. Can we talk about this later?"

"I guess so," Alan replied, frowning a little. "When do you want...?"

"Uh, I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, okay? Gotta go!" With that, Dom turned and hurried back to his friends. They closed ranks around him and the whole group hustled out the door.

"But I won't be... at... breakfast," Alan tried to explain, his voice getting softer and lower in his disappointment. His shoulders slumped and, with a heavy sigh, he went back to his own friends.

"What d-did he say?" Fermat asked as Alan slumped back into his chair. He pointed to the piece of chocolate cake on Alan's tray. "A-Are you going to e-eat that?"

"Here," Alan said, pushing the dessert toward his friend. "Knock yourself out." He ran his hands through his hair. "He asked if we could talk about it later... at breakfast tomorrow."

"But you won't _be_ at breakfast tomorrow," Xavion said in a warning tone. "At least, not at the same time he'll be there."

"I know, I know," Alan said, slouching further in his chair. "And I bet he does, too." He shook his head. "I should have known this would happen."

"But why?" A.J. asked, looking puzzled. "Why would Dom go back on his word?"

Alan looked at Xavion, who passed the look to Jason. Jason glanced over at Qaeshon, who shrugged. "It's because of the rumor, I think," the sophomore said. "No one wants to be thought of as... well... _different_. It's not popular."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Sugi's talked to him, too," Xavion said sourly. "He made it clear that you're not his only target."

"Yeah, all too clear," Alan complained. He ran a hand through his hair again. "What am I gonna do now?"

xxxx

"Thunderbird Two from Scott."

"Thunderbird Two here," Virgil said tersely. "Go ahead, Scott."

"I have a report on the cause of the damage to the _Scrutiny_," Scott replied briskly.

Jeff and Gordon glanced at each other, both wearing the same puzzled expression. "Scott?" Jeff asked. "What did you say the name of the ship was?"

"Uh, you heard me, sir," Scott replied, a touch of irritation in his voice.

"_Scrutiny_ on the high seas?" a grinning Gordon murmured to Virgil. The pilot shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Jeff could see and hear some of the sailors chuckling behind his oldest son as Scott continued, "I am told that the damage was caused by a tornadic waterspout. The meteorologist clocked the winds at 125 knots per hour before the communications masts went down."

Virgil whistled. "That comes out to..."

"Roughly 145 miles per hour," Gordon said, finishing his brother's sentence. He leaned over and touched a few computer keys. "That's the equivalent of an F3 tornado on the enhanced Fujita scale." Glancing over at Jeff, he added, "They were lucky to get off as easily as they did."

"Waterspouts like this one are rare, but this supercell is powerful enough to have spawned it," John chimed in. "I'll keep my eyes peeled and let you know if I see anything else of that nature. They're hard to spot, but I think I can find any that might develop with enhanced Doppler."

"F-A-B," Jeff replied. "What is the _Scrutiny's_ status, Scott?"

"They've got three men that need airlifting to a hospital, and they've lost communications with the Sealink. They're working on re-establishing communications and GPS," Scott reported. "The Sealink only has an hour and a half left of air. The ship tried to outrun the waterspout before it hit, so we'll need to launch Thunderbird Four at the _Scrutiny's_ last known coordinates."

"F-A-B," Jeff said. "John, contact the Royal Australian Navy, and give them the _Scrutiny's_ current coordinates. See if they can handle the airlift. Scott, if we can raise the Sealink and get it on their deck, can they lash it down?"

He could see Scott conferring with the captain and then returning to the small screen of his communicator. "That's an affirmative."

"F-A-B. Here's the plan. We'll drop Thunderbird Four at the _Scrutiny's_ last known coordinates to find and raise the Sealink. Thunderbird Two will stand by to lift the Sealink with the magnetic grabs. Do what you can to help them restore their communications and particularly their GPS, Scott. If the RAN can't get out here in this weather, be prepared to airlift the worst of the injured yourself. John, I want those updates; this supercell is proving to be extremely strong and unpredictable. Once the Sealink is up and aboard ship, we can transfer any of the injured that remain. Acknowledge."

"F-A-B," Scott said firmly.

"F-A-B. Thunderbird Five standing by," John echoed.

From behind him, Jeff heard two more voices chime in with, "F-A-B."

"All right. We are good to go. Thunderbird Two, out." Jeff swiveled his chair around and beckoned to Gordon. "Let's prep Thunderbird Four, son. We've got a wild and wet ride ahead of us."

_

* * *

What's going on with Dom? Can Alan keep his temper despite the pressure? Will he get to move? Will the rescue go smoothly or not? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	24. Uncooperative Conditions

_Author's note: _A short one this time. The rescue continues. Fermat and A.J. talk about their fathers. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"This is Lisa Lowe at Royal Australian Navy headquarters in New South Wales..." The roving reporter stood before a naval official, sticking her microphone in the admiral's face. 

"How does she g-get around so f-fast?" Fermat quietly asked.

"Shhhh!" Alan and Jason both hissed at once. "I want to hear this," Alan added.

They were in the common room on Jason's floor in Oakwood, watching the news report. Curfew was only twenty minutes off, but the boys were certain that they could beat the bell.

The admiral was talking now. "Yes, Lisa. Helicopters from the Fleet Air Arm have been deployed to aid International Rescue in airlifting three injured sailors to hospital. Our assistance in the matter has been hindered by some extreme weather at the rescue site." She smiled slightly. "It seems that the International Rescue craft are made of sterner stuff than our helicopters; flying into a strong supercell is dangerous business."

"But it's what they do," Lisa pontificated. Alan rolled his eyes as Fermat surreptitiously elbowed him in the ribs.

"Any sign of the weather abating, Admiral?" Lisa asked.

It was the admiral's turn to nod. "Yes, Lisa. Our meteorologists are sure the supercell will be less intense by the time our people arrive."

"Thank you, Admiral." Lisa turned to face the camera. "To recap, International Rescue was called out to aid the research vessel, _Scrutiny_, off the coast of New South Wales. From all reports, the ship was damaged by a powerful waterspout created by a severe supercell thunderstorm. Three sailors have been injured and contact was lost with the _Scrutiny's_ submersible. The Fleet Air Arm of the Royal Australian Navy has dispatched helicopters to aid International Rescue in this endeavor. We will have updates as they come available. This is Lisa Lowe in Australia for I.W.N News."

Jason sighed. "No pictures of the Thunderbirds." He turned to Alan. "I'll keep an eye on the story after lights out," he said softly.

"Cool," Alan replied, trying to sound interested but not worried. "I so wish I had a vid like yours. I'll have to see about getting one."

"Y-Your dad might n-not approve," Fermat warned as he rose to stretch.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Alan returned irritably. "I'll see what I can do with my allowance, that's all."

Fermat shrugged, and slipped his jacket on over his good arm. "See y-you in the m-morning."

"Yeah, see you, Brain," Jason replied. "See you at lunch, Pinky."

"Yeah later, Jase," Alan said, raising his hand in farewell. He and Fermat left together, taking the stairs down from Oakwood's second floor.

"I hope everyone's okay," Alan murmured. "If your dad's at Command and Control, it means that Gords went out. That's got me worried."

"Your d-dad wouldn't let G-Gordon go if it wasn't o-o-o... all right," Fermat reminded him.

"Yeah. You're right." Alan sighed heavily. They had reached the walkway in front of Oakwood. "I just wish I was there."

"M-Me, too," Fermat admitted. He looked around. "L-Looks like rain tonight."

Alan glanced upward to the dark clouds. "I hope it doesn't rain in the morning. I've got to run in it."

"Coach will make you r-run in the r-rain?" Fermat asked.

"I suppose so," Alan replied. "After all, the soccer games go on in the rain, as long as there's no lightning." He put his hands in his jacket pockets. "In any case, I'd better go. Good night, Fermat."

"G-Good night, Alan," Fermat said. Then the friends turned and headed off in the opposite directions.

xxxx

"Thunderbird Four to Sealink submersible," Gordon called. "Come in, Sealink."

Static greeted his call. He glanced over to Jeff, who was piloting the mini-sub, his muscles as tense as Virgil's had been. They had been dropped off at the _Scrutiny's_ last known coordinates, and Thunderbird Two was hovering above, waiting for them to surface.

"Try again, Gordon, but alter the frequency," Jeff instructed. "They may have been using the whole band while trying to re-establish communications with _Scrutiny_."

"F-A-B," Gordon said. He fiddled with the radio frequencies, and called again, "Thunderbird Four to Sealink. Come in, Sealink."

"Huh? What?" The burst of confused voices was welcome to both Tracys, and they exchanged grins. "This is Sealink. Repeat identification, please."

"This is International Rescue Thunderbird Four, Sealink," Gordon replied. "Status, please."

"International Rescue? Oh, man! Are we glad to hear from you! We can't raise our mother vessel, _Scrutiny_." The female voice sounded relieved.

"Copy that, Sealink. _Scrutiny_ tangled with a tornadic waterspout and sustained both structural and communication damage. Now, your status, please." Gordon was firm and businesslike. Jeff smiled as he listened to his son deal with the woman.

"Status? Okay. We're structurally intact. All personnel are uninjured and accounted for. Propulsion systems are green. We didn't know what happened to _Scrutiny_, so we hesitated to surface. Now that we know, and you're here, we can begin our ascent."

"What is your current depth, and how is your air supply?" Gordon asked.

"Current depth is 910 meters. Our air supply is fine; we have enough to get topside. Back up life support is green." There was a wry tone to the woman's voice. "In our last contact with _Scrutiny_, they told us there was a thunderstorm. We were just waiting around down here for the weather to clear."

Gordon chuckled slightly. "I copy that."

"Thunderbird Four, you said that _Scrutiny_ has structural damage. How bad is it?" The voice on the other end was suddenly sober.

"Your docking cradle is damaged and unusable. Their communication antennae were ripped off and GPS was down. There are three badly injured people; the Royal Australian Navy is on the way to help airlift them to shore." Gordon was succinct in his recital of the _Scrutiny's_ woes.

There was a long whistle, maybe two as someone in the background added their wordless assessment of the damages. "Uh, one quick question here, Thunderbird Four. If our docking cradle is damaged, how is _Scrutiny_ going to pick us up?"

"You leave that to us," Gordon replied, sounding firmly encouraging.

Jeff turned to him. "We have them on visual. They've got the porch lights on."

"We have you on visual, Sealink," Gordon relayed. The relatively small form of the Sealink could be seen through the clear portion of Thunderbird Four's hull. It was a tangled looking affair, a clear half bubble set in a metal frame that was dotted here and there with lights, hoses, grills, and other paraphernalia. _Not the most graceful looking thing on the planet,_ Gordon thought, _but then, it doesn't have to be._

"We have you on visual, too, Thunderbird Four." Jeff could see the pilot peering through the clear bubble, trying to get a good look at them. The three researchers who had accompanied her on the dive were on either side of her, pressing up against the hull to get a good, long gander at a Thunderbird.

"Wow," the pilot said, sounding both awed and disappointed at the same time. Jeff and Gordon could catch snatches of conversation in the background and got the distinct feeling that the researchers were less than impressed. "Neat machine," the pilot continued. "Very sleek. But..." Her words trailed off.

"But what, Sealink?" Gordon asked wryly. He and Jeff exchanged amused glances.

"Well, uh," she stammered. "I guess I was expecting something... bigger."

Gordon's eyes snapped over to Jeff, who chuckled and turned on the communications link for himself.

"Good things come in small packages, ma'am," he said, his humor very evident in his voice. "Let's get you folks topside and then you can see something a bit closer to your expectations."

xxxx

"So, h-how did the c-call from your father go?" Fermat asked A.J. They hadn't had time to talk about it at dinner; the fracas with Trey Mackenzie and Alan's current trouble had been the main topics of conversation.

"It was great!" A.J. enthused. He pulled on his pajama shirt and began to button it. "He asked me for the chorale's schedule; says he'll try to make a performance." He smiled widely. "It was great to get a call from him and be able to talk about... stuff. I think he's been surprised at the emails he's been getting from me. I don't know why, but I've just started telling him everything that's been going on instead of just asking for money."

The boy moved to the end of the bed and started to climb up into the top bunk. "I guess it's because I see what you and your dad have going. I mean, you're sorta in the same situation I am, and I dunno... you're so close to your dad." Crawling across the mattress, he pulled back his covers, then stopped. "I think it's neat, and... and I want that for me and my dad," he said, his voice getting quieter. "I mean, all that we have is each other... even though my mom is alive and all..." He frowned a bit at Fermat as he climbed between the sheets. "D'you understand?"

Fermat set his glasses on his desk. "Yeah, I d-do." He crossed to his bunk, and pulled back the covers. "It's gotta be awfully l-lonely for our f-f-f... dads. Sometimes I w-wish I were home w-with him, but then the t-time we s-spend together wouldn't be so sp-special." He sat down and slid between the covers. "We'd more l-likely get on e-each other's n-nerves. And my d-dad wouldn't be a-able to f-focus on his w-work as well if he h-had to s-see to my schooling, I think." Fermat stopped and sighed. "Still I get h-homesick sometimes. And I m-miss him."

"Same here," A.J. said softly. "But I'm finding that it helps to have friends." He stuck his head over the edge of the bunk. "G'night, Fermat."

"Goodnight, A.J."

The lights went out, and the two boys lay back on their respective pillows. Soon, Fermat could hear the regular breathing that indicated his roommate was asleep. But he found it hard to follow suit.

_I hope the Tracys are okay out there. A tornadic waterspout sounds pretty serious._

xxxx

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird Four," Jeff called. "How's the weather up there?" He had swapped places with Gordon for the trip to the surface, and was now outfitted in SCUBA gear, just in case he had to help attach Thunderbird Two's grapples to the Sealink.

"Thunderbird Two here." Virgil sounded tense. His face was a study in extreme concentration. "Things are quieting down now. Precipitation has dropped off, but there's still a lot of lightning. Seas are still pretty choppy, too."

"Will we be able to transfer the Sealink to _Scrutiny_?" Jeff asked, concerned.

"I think so," Thunderbird Two's pilot replied. "The swells are heading in pretty much the same direction. It'll take some maneuvering, but I think I can handle it."

"Good. ETA to the surface, three minutes."

"F-A-B."

"Mobile Control from Thunderbird Four. Scott? What's the _Scrutiny's_ ETA to our position?"

A slight static colored Scott's voice as he replied. "Mobile Control here. _Scrutiny's_ ETA is fifteen minutes. We've just fixed the GPS and radioed our position to the Australians. But there's still a helluva lot of lightning..." There was a flash of light that illuminated Scott's face and larger burst of static nearly drowned out his words. "That was close."

"F-A-B," Jeff replied. "We'll see you on the surface." He cut communications and glanced over at Gordon, who gave him a slight shrug. Frowning, Jeff put in another call.

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Four. Come in, Thunderbird Five."

John's face appeared in the main computer screen. "Thunderbird Five here," he said crisply.

"John, I need a weather report."

"From what I can see," John began, "things are beginning to taper off, and the supercell is almost out of your area. The good news is that the wall cloud has passed your position and you shouldn't encounter another waterspout. Just diminishing rain and lightning for the next twenty minutes or so."

"F-A-B," Jeff said, relieved. "Thunderbird Four, out." He glanced upward as Thunderbird Four broke the surface. The unexpected rolling of the sea's surface caught him off guard. "Whoa!"

"Sealink to Thunderbird Four." The pilot's voice, laced with humor, crackled over the radio. "I see what you meant when you said something more to our expectations!"

Jeff looked up and grinned. Hovering above, steady despite the wind, Thunderbird Two certainly looked impressive.

"Thunderbird Four and Sealink from Thunderbird Two." Virgil's face popped up on the computer screen. "Prepare for magnetic grabs, Sealink."

"Thunderbirds Two and Four from Mobile Control." A window opened on the screen to show Scott's relieved face. "_Scrutiny's_ ETA now ten minutes."

"F-A-B, Mobile Control," Jeff replied. He turned to watch as a set of bright yellow magnetic grabs were slowly lowered from the underside of Thunderbird Two's chassis. "Come on, Virgil," he murmured softly. "You've nearly got it."

In Thunderbird Two, Virgil was maneuvering his 'Bird on manual control, trying to compensate moment to moment for the wind that buffeted the cargo carrier, the poor visibility, and the rolling waves. The gusts whipped the cables away from their projected target more than once. He muttered curses under his breath and finally pulled the grabs back up.

"This isn't working. I have to get closer," he announced.

"F-A-B, Virgil," Jeff called to him. "Just be careful of your VTOLs. They can cause as much trouble as the wind."

"Thunderbird Two, this is Sealink. We'll do what we can to maneuver towards your grabs."

"Copy that, Sealink," Virgil replied. "Starting descent now."

Jeff and Gordon watched as the green bulk began to lower, getting closer and closer to the ocean's surface. The force of the VTOLs fired made ripples on the surging swells. Gordon manipulated Four's controls, easing them toward the Sealink, even as the other submersible moved closer to Thunderbird Two.

The grabs appeared again, playing out on their cables, the stiff wind blowing them at an angle toward the submersible. Virgil fingered the controls, trying to edge his Thunderbird closer, trying to maneuver the grabs into position. They were tantalizingly close, but he was still having trouble getting them close enough to make contact. Finally, a hatch opened on the Sealink, and a flotation vest, followed by an arm, then a head, then a body, appeared. It was the pilot. She slipped into the vest as soon as she was clear of the Sealink's narrow hatchway, then she balanced herself on the tubular construction that surrounded the bulbous capsule.

"Gordon," Jeff said tersely. "Move us in closer, and fast." He turned. "I'm heading for the airlock."

"F-A-B," Gordon replied, his voice tight. Thunderbird Four's speed increased.

Virgil's eyes widened in shock when he saw the woman standing on the tubular structure, her short hair whipping in the wind. He pulled Thunderbird Two back up a little so that the wake from the VTOLs wouldn't knock her off her perch, and he let out more of the line. The grabs dipped further down toward the Sealink, and the pilot leaned out, reaching for them. One flailing attempt, another, then she had the closest one. Virgil uttered a hissing, "Yes!" and played out some more cable.

The second grab was easier to catch. The pilot kept the cables in one hand as she backed up a bit and clambered down so she was sitting on the outer structure, her legs locked around the pipes. She guided the first grab to lock onto the pipe she was sitting on, then moved gingerly across the viewing globe to the other side, pulling the cable along with her.

By this time, Gordon had pulled Thunderbird Four to within a meter of the Sealink's bow. His muscles were tense as he tried to maintain the distance despite the swelling seas that wanted to force the two submersibles apart. Jeff waited in the airlock. He knew that if the pilot went into the drink, he might be her only means of rescue.

Virgil's hands were feather light on Thunderbird Two's controls, feeling the slightest movement of his 'Bird, playing her as if she were the piano back home, and he was trying to get every iota of emotional nuance from his chosen piece. Every change in the engine's pitch, the slightest shift of position registered with him, and he compensated for it with the most delicate of touches. By now the pilot had finished her move; she was guiding the second grab to the superstructure. He activated the magnetic clamp, and felt the increased drag on the cables. The only thing left was for her to get back inside, then he could lift Sealink clear of the waves.

Gordon held his breath. The hatchway into the research submersible was very, very narrow; for the pilot to get back in, she had to remove her flotation vest. He watched as she began to unfasten the jacket... then it happened. The Sealink shifted with a large swell, and the pilot was swept off into the sea.

"Dad!" Gordon shouted as he hit the button to flood the air lock. "She's gone overboard!"

_

* * *

Will Jeff be able to reach the pilot? Can Alan sleep knowing his family is out on a rescue? Will he have to run in the rain? Will he be able to stay on the team? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	25. Under The Weather

_Author's note: _The rescue wraps up. Alan calls home. Alan goes for his run, and breakfast for Fermat and the rest of the friends. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and her title suggestion. I checked on the official website and could not see where the airlock on Thunderbird Four was. If I got it wrong, my apologies.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff put his face mask on as the airlock quickly filled with water. "Jeff to Thunderbird Two. Is Sealink ready to be lifted?" 

"Yes, it is," Virgil stated.

"Then get it out of the water and take it to _Scrutiny_. Gordon, get me as close to her as you can, and give Scott a heads up and have _Scrutiny_ stop where they are until we can get this gal back."

"F-A-B," the boys replied.

"Airlock is ready. Are we close?"

"Just a moment..." Gordon said. There was a half-minute of silence, then, "There! Go get 'er!"

"F-A-B. Opening airlock." Jeff pulled down on the manual lever that opened the airlock's bottom hatch, then he swam down and out. The sea looked gray-green from his perspective, and as he surfaced near the prow, the swells threatened to push him away from both Thunderbird Four and the figure he saw floating just a couple of meters away. She was conscious, and making an attempt to swim towards the bright yellow watercraft, but her flotation vest was half unfastened, and hindered her movement. Jeff pushed off from Thunderbird Four and swam towards her as strongly as he could. It seemed to take forever, and every swell threatened to thrust them further apart, but finally Jeff was able to grab her arm and pull her to him.

"What's a nice gal like you doing in a place like this?" Jeff quipped, shouting to be heard over the rain and the roll of thunder overhead.

"The crawl," she replied, spitting out sea water.

Jeff grinned behind his mask. "I think our ride's here!" he told her. "Airlock hatch is below, I'm afraid!"

Gordon had slowly moved Thunderbird Four closer to the pair, and now was close enough for the two swimmers to touch. Jeff guided her toward the aft section as Gordon continued to pull forward, moving with care so the wake of the submersible wouldn't add to the tumult of the sea.

Jeff unlimbered a breathing regulator from his tank. "We're going to have to stick together!" he explained loudly as he fitted it over her mouth and nose. "And without that flotation vest!"

She nodded, her eyes squinting at the salty sting of the seawater. Jeff felt for the vest's fastenings, his fingers fumbling as he released them one by one. Then he slipped a supporting arm around her as she pulled off the lifesaving device.

"Ready?" he called.

She paused for a moment, then nodded again.

"On three!" He held up his fingers, silently counting to three, then as the third finger went up, they submerged together. Flipping over so that they were facing down, Jeff kept an arm on her. She had her eyes shut tight, so he had to be her eyes, guiding her down the few meters it took to get them under Thunderbird Four. Once under the mini-sub, the pair swam upward and into the flooded airlock.

"We're aboard!" Jeff called.

"F-A-B!" Gordon's voice sounded in his ear.

The airlock hatch closed, and Jeff could put his feet on solid decking. As the water began to drain, the pilot staggered and he shored her up by pulling her arm around his shoulder. "Welcome aboard," he said, smiling.

"Thanks," she replied wearily. "Sealink?"

"Should be on its way to _Scrutiny_ by now," Jeff assured her. "Let's get a blanket around you and get you into the cockpit."

xxxx

Alan lay on his bunk, arms behind his head, unable to sleep. Outside, the sounds of rain and wind beat against the window to his room. It was the same way when he was home and his family was out rescuing someone, but at least there he could go to Command and Control when sleep eluded him. Here, he had no such recourse.

He rolled over onto his side, the gauze on one knee shifting as he did. Now that he was still, his knees lost no time in complaining about their earlier mistreatment. He was sore, both in body and in heart, and his mind refused to turn itself off.

_How can I find out what's going on? If Fermat and I were rooming together..._ He lifted himself up on one elbow and punched his pillow, then laid his head back down again. _I **need** to know!_

His eyes closed momentarily, then they opened quickly as an idea came to him. _The watch! I could call John and ask him!_ He turned the idea over in his mind a few times, then finally sighed. _No. I'd better not. Dad said it was for emergencies... but, oh hell! I need to know!_

He slipped out of bed, dropping to the floor lightly. Sugi was asleep, his deep breathing punctuated from time to time with a slight snore. Alan padded quietly over to his locked drawer and opened it, but instead of pulling out his watch, he took out his phone. _If I just call the island, then I'll know, but I won't break Dad's rule about the watch,_ he reasoned. Taking the device into the bathroom, he shut the door behind him, and leaned up against the wall. The bathroom's night light turned on automatically, its intentionally low illumination meant to help those who used it to find their way, while discouraging any activity more complex than emptying one's bladder or bowels. It didn't matter much anyway; once Alan got his phone open, its backlighted keys and display gave him all the light he needed. He pressed the speed dial for the island, selected voice only, and waited for someone to pick up.

xxxx

Scott hovered above the _Scrutiny _in Thunderbird One, watching as the RAN helicopter landed on the spot he had just vacated. Another helicopter hovered nearby, waiting for the signal to land and pick up its emergency passenger. The remainder of the front deck had been cleared as much as possible, and the Sealink sat there, close to the superstructure, now empty of scientists.

The Sealink pilot had been given the honor of going aboard Thunderbird Two when Thunderbird Four was retrieved, and had been winched down to the research ship in the rescue basket. Scott, who had been on his way to Thunderbird One at the time, had stopped to watch her give his father a kiss on the cheek before the basket hit the deck and she stepped off into the waiting care of the _Scrutiny's_ medics.

"Scott to Jeff," the eldest son radioed to his father, a mischievous tone in his voice. "Don't think I didn't see that."

"See what, Scott?" Jeff replied, sounding oh-so-innocent.

"That little 'thank you' that the Sealink pilot gave you on the way down," Scott told him.

"Hey, the old man's got life in him yet," Jeff responded, amused.

Scott grinned. "Yeah, well, wait until I tell Lady Penelope about it."

Jeff barked a short laugh. "Go right ahead, son. Penny will understand."

Now the first RAN helicopter was in the air and the second was maneuvering into position. Scott was satisfied that their help was no longer needed. "Thunderbird Two, Thunderbird Five, and base from Thunderbird One," he said. "Calling stand down at 1205 hours local time."

"Thunderbird Two, F-A-B," Virgil replied, sounding more relaxed than he had for the past few hours.

"Thunderbird Five, F-A-B," John added, sounding relieved and upbeat.

"B-Base, F-F-A-B," Brains echoed from Command and Control. "Wh-What's your c-current ETA?"

Scott checked his chronometer. "Thunderbird One's ETA is eighteen minutes." He grinned. "I promise I'll leave some food for you guys, but you'd better hurry."

"Thunderbird Two ETA is forty-five minutes," Virgil said, a bit glumly.

"Don't worry, boys," came Onaha's voice. "I'm making a special snack to hold you until dinner. It will be ready in... oh, an hour or so. Give you all time to get back and shower."

"Onaha, you're the best," Jeff's voice cut in. He chuckled. "Well, Scott, sounds like you'll be cooling your heels waiting for that snack. You might as well pace us home."

Scott sighed dramatically. "F-A-B."

With that the two Thunderbirds turned their prows to the east and flew for home through the clearing sky.

xxxx

"Come on," Alan whispered. "Pick up! Brains, Onaha, Kyrano, somebody! Pick up!"

There was a beep, then a familiar voice sounded in Alan's ear. "Alan, what are you doing up so late?"

"Hey, Dad!" the teen said softly. "I heard you were out on business, and in a bad storm. I wanted to know how things were going. I didn't expect you to be home."

"Where are you?" Jeff asked, frowning. "It sounds like there's an echo of some sort."

"I'm in the bathroom, so I don't wake Sugi," Alan told him. "Please, Dad. I was worried and I couldn't sleep, otherwise I wouldn't have called. How did things go? Is everyone all right? How long have you been back?"

Jeff sighed. "Yes, everyone is fine. We've been back for about forty minutes. No one was hurt, there were no fatalities among the rescuees. The weather was terrible and made things a bit complicated, but everything worked out fine. I'll have John download the details to the tertiary drive and you can read them sometime when Fermat's roommate isn't around."

"Is Gords okay? I was kinda concerned when I heard from Fermat that Brains was at Command and Control."

"Yes, he's okay; a little tired perhaps. I took him along because we needed a steady hand on Thunderbird Four." Jeff smiled a little, and his tone became less stern. "We could have used you out there today, Alan."

Alan let out a slight huff of air, a sound between shock and laughter. "Yeah, well, I would've _been_ there if you hadn't sent me back to school."

"Yes, I know, but school is where you need to be, Alan. No shortcuts."

"No shortcuts, Dad. I promise."

"Good, now that you know that everything and everyone is okay, it's time to get back to bed. And that's an order, son."

"F-A-B," Alan murmured. "Have a good day, Dad. Love you."

Jeff shook his head in amazement. "Love you, too, Alan. Goodnight."

The call disconnected, and Alan breathed a sigh of relief. Then he put his phone on the vanity counter as he used the toilet and washed up. Moving back into his room, he padded across to his desk, returned his phone to the appropriate drawer and locked it, then climbed back into his bunk. Lee sounded as if he were still asleep, and Alan went gingerly, wincing as the ladder to his bed creaked. The noise didn't seem to disturb his roommate, and he was thankful for it. He slipped back beneath the covers and, this time, he dropped right off, secure in the fact that his family was safe at home.

xxxx

The morning was gray, misty, and raw when Alan headed out after breakfast for the team run. Wet ground squelched beneath his feet as he hurried on to the gym, and he splashed through numerous puddles as he cut across the grass to get there. His breath condensed before his face, and his exposed skin felt damp and clammy when he finally entered the warm, brightly lit gymnasium. He had remembered his gear, and once in the locker room, slipped his gym bag inside a locker, using his thumb print to secure his belongings. Then he headed for the track team's meeting place.

Xavion was already there, along with Erik, Steve, and a couple of other team members. The tall captain looked up as Alan approached. "Alan. Coach wants to see you in his office."

Alan's heart sank, but he replied, "Thanks," and went off in the direction of Coach Evans's office. The door was ajar when he got there, and he could hear two men, Coach Evans and Coach Beccara, discussing something.

"Are you sure about this, Terry?" Coach Beccara asked. "Could Lewis possibly be wrong?"

"Yes, I'm sure and no, I don't think he is," Coach Evans replied. "Besides, there's corroborating evidence. From his roommate and from the director of student affairs..."

At this point, Alan realized he'd been eavesdropping and hurriedly knocked on the door. "Come in!" Coach Evans called. Alan did so and the coach looked up. "Ah, Alan. Please close the door behind you."

He did as he was told, and stood at an uneasy attention before the two coaches. "Alan, I got a notice from Ms. Belvedere telling me that you were involved in a fight yesterday," the coach began. "Is this true?"

Alan considered his answer for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, sir. It is. I was attacked..."

Coach Evans held up a hand. "I know all about what happened, and who was at fault. I merely wanted to stress to you that I don't like my players mixing it up, on the field or off of it. In this situation, it may have seemed you had no choice but, Alan, there is always a choice. I don't want to hear of it happening again. Do you understand?"

Alan moistened his suddenly dry lips. "Yes, sir," he replied, nodding.

"Good." Coach held out a hand. "Do you have an excuse for me from Ms. Bell?"

"Yes, sir." Alan put a hand into the pocket of his warm-up pants and pulled out a slightly crumpled note. "Here it is," he said as he handed it over.

Coach Evans nodded. "I received one via email, but I want my players to be responsible for their own paperwork as well. How are your knees?"

"They're a little bit sore, but I can run," Alan said.

"Good. Sit down, Alan." Coach Evans motioned to the hard plastic chair in front of the desk. "Now, I want you to tell Mr. Beccara what you told me about the syringe."

Alan sat as ordered, and shot a glance at the younger teacher. Then he explained the situation that he had walked in on that past Monday evening.

"Were there any vials, or evidence of what the syringe might have contained?" Coach Beccara asked.

Alan shook his head. "No, sir. I didn't see anything, but then again, I wasn't looking either."

"I see." Coach Beccara turned to his colleague. "I see what you mean. But to be fair, we'll have to include everyone."

"I agree." Coach Evans glanced at Alan. "Okay, Alan. You can go. I'll see you at practice this afternoon."

"Yes, sir," Alan replied as he stood. "I'll be there."

"You most certainly will," the older man told him. "Or you'll be cut from the team. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Coach," Alan said stoutly.

"Good. Now get moving."

Alan left the office and jogged back to where the team was gathered. Everyone was there, stretching to warm up, and as soon as Xavion spotted Alan, he opened the door to the gym. "Once around the track, then we'll take to the grass." The team members poured from the gym, and the senior waited for Alan to fall into step with him. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good. Let's get going." With that, the two teenagers left the gym, falling into an easy running stride as they headed across the sodden field to the track.

xxxx

"Hey."

Fermat looked up from his breakfast at the sound of Dominic Bertoli's voice. The yearbook editor stood by the table that Fermat was sharing with Jason, Qaeshon and A.J., his breakfast tray in hand.

"What do you want, Bertoli?" Jason asked, his tone of voice matched by his unsmiling face.

Dom sucked in a pronounced breath. "Have any of you seen Tracy around? I need to talk to him."

"N-No, not this morning," Fermat replied coolly. "H-He goes to b-breakfast with the r-rest of the a-a-a... the rest of his t-team."

"Oh!" Dom looked genuinely surprised. "I'd forgotten about the early breakfast shift." He shifted the weight of his tray slightly. "Well, if any of you see him, please tell him I need to talk to him within the next day or so about the rooming situation."

"We'll tell him," Qaeshon said with a nod.

"Thanks," Dom replied. "Talk to you all later."

Fermat waited until Dom was out of earshot to lean over and say, "Wh-What do you think that's all a-about?"

Jason shook his head. "Don't know, and don't care." He took a deep draught of milk. "You can tell Alan if you want. I'm not saying a thing."

"Maybe he wants to make the arrangements for Alan to move in after all," A.J. hazarded. "He sounded positive to me."

"M-Maybe," Fermat said thoughtfully. He shrugged. "I'll be s-seeing Alan in classes today. I'll l-let him know."

"Hope he can stay on the team," Qaeshon said as he chased down his last bits of scrambled egg. "Zave is really worried that he'll get cut."

"Well, Alan d-doesn't intend on g-getting cut," Fermat responded firmly. "The e-events of the last few d-days have been beyond his c-control. You'd think the c-coach could s-s-s... would kn-kn-kn... understood."

"You'd think so, yeah," Qaeshon said. "But when you're on a sports team at Wharton, you're supposed to be a good example all the way around. In your behavior, your grades, the way you push yourself at practice, it's all important." He shook his head. "I really pity the guys who are on scholarship. They've just got that much more pressure."

"Scholarship?" Fermat asked. "I d-didn't know that Wh-Wharton gave s-scholarships."

"Yeah, it does," Qaeshon answered. "It's supposed to be a big secret but they have a few for deserving athletes, usually upperclassmen. No one knows who gets them, though, or where the money comes from. At least, none of the other athletes do. The administration and the coaches might. The only reason I know is because Zave overheard a bit of conversation between the coaches once." He shrugged. "I'm glad Zave and I have trust funds that pay for this." He waved a hand in the air, indicating the whole of the school around them. "I can't imagine how tough being dependent on a scholarship would be."

"Yeah," A.J. echoed, looking puzzled. "It would be tough."

"Are you guys finished?" Jason asked irritably. "I'd like to get a move on here."

"What bee's up your butt?" Qaeshon asked sharply. "You've been a pain all morning so far."

Jason looked anywhere but at the dark-skinned teen and sighed. "It's Ralph. He's been pretty snide this past day or so, ever since Sugi invited him into the inner circle. Keeps snarking at me about hanging out with Fermat and Alan." He shook his head. "You guys have been good friends to me, the best kind. I'm not going to stop being your friend just because my roommate's got his head up his ass. But... I don't like him making fun of me."

"Hey, I wouldn't like it either, Jase," Qaeshon said, nodding in understanding. "Nobody would. Just ignore him."

"W-We'll get through this, J-Jase," Fermat added. "Things will d-die down." He glanced at his own roommate. "But I'd h-have thought that wh-what A.J. t-told him would have m-made him think."

"He's had some choice words about A.J., too," Jason added gloomily. "But I think that's because he lost face with his friends when A.J. owned him." He smiled slightly at the youngest in the group. "And you did, A.J. my man. You really did."

"I agree, A.J.," Qaeshon said, giving the younger boy a light punch on the arm. "You rocked, man!"

"A-Add me to the f-fan club," Fermat said with a laugh. "That was a-awesome."

"Thanks," A.J. said, grinning. "I'm working on some more good comebacks for various occasions. Better to think of them beforehand than after the fact."

The four friends laughed a bit, then Jason rose from the table. "I'll take your tray, Brain, so you don't have to face that creepy Pierce. Wait for us near the door."

"O-Okay," Fermat said, nodding. He pushed his tray over to Jason and stood, stretching his good arm, then picking up his school bags. "See you in a f-few minutes."

"Right."

The three friends headed to the tray return, and Fermat wandered over to the door to wait. He smiled a bit as he stood there, thinking about what he could possibly say to someone like Ralph. _I'll have to ask A.J. to tell me some of his comebacks. There are a few people I'd like to put in their places myself._

_

* * *

What are the coaches talking about? What will Dom have to say to Alan? Will the friends be able to weather the rumor and it's fallout. What will A.J. come up with? Will Alan make afternoon practice? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	26. Undismayed

_Author's note: _Morning classes and afternoon practices. An unexpected change of plans. Fermat gets a slight shock, and Alan undergoes testing. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan had a hot shower after the run, though he felt he was wet enough from the exercise not to need one. A light, spotty rain had started while the team was roughly at the halfway point. Xavion didn't stop; he kept going and even picked up the pace a bit. More than one team member slipped on the wet ground, grinding mud and grass into their knees or pants. Some of the runners wore warm-up pants, like Alan, but others, for reasons known only to themselves, wore shorts. At first, Alan thought they were idiots, but when he saw how sodden and muddy his own clothes were, he began to think they were onto something. _Wish it was laundry day tomorrow,_ Alan thought ruefully. _I'll have to hang these up in the bathroom so they don't get all musty before Friday._

He shoved his gym bag back in his locker, put in his wet athletic shoes as well, and hung the clothes on the hooks inside. They wouldn't dry very much there, but it would have to do. He was running late.

The bell rang a split second after Alan entered the classroom. He stopped at the teacher's desk long enough to deposit his homework into Mr. Graboski's "in" box, then slid into his seat and hurriedly removed his books from his backpack. He glanced over at Fermat, who pointed emphatically at the paper lying on his open math book. Alan craned his neck a little to see a note, written in Fermat's clear handwriting. It read, "Dom wants to talk." Alan nodded, giving Fermat a quick thumbs up, then the younger boy slipped the note beneath his book and the two boys focused their attention on their teacher.

When math was over, Alan and Fermat walked together for a few minutes on their way to their separate classes.

"So, what does Dom want to talk about?" Alan asked, settling his backpack on one shoulder.

"The r-r-rooming situation," Fermat replied. He sighed. "I'm n-not sure what he w-wants, but A-A-A... Andrew thought it sounded h-hopeful."

"Hmm. Okay. Thanks, Fermat," Alan said. "I'll try to catch him at lunch." He shrugged his laden shoulder again to move the straps up higher. "I'll see you in history."

"R-Right," the younger boy replied. "S-See you there."

The friends parted company. By now, Fermat was more used to carrying as much of his own gear as he could. He had pared things down to the bare minimum so the book bag was much lighter, and he had tucked some of his materials into his computer case. Still, he was glad to see Devdan at pre-engineering. The older boy held the door open for him.

"And how are you today, my young friend?" Dev asked, a bright smile on his face.

"I'm f-f-f... okay," Fermat replied, smiling back. "Looking forward to p-practice this afternoon."

"Ah yes," Dev nodded sagely. "We have practice today and tomorrow, then our first meet on Friday evening."

"Fr-Fr-Friday?" Fermat sputtered out. "S-So s-s-soon!"

"Yes, and it is an away meet. There will be more details forthcoming," Dev told him as he sat down at his desk. "But right now, we must concentrate on the materials before us."

Fermat dropped into his chair, a glassy-eyed look on his face. _Friday! I can't believe it! It's so soon! When did Alan say Dad was coming? Was it a Friday? I'll have to ask him in history!_

Before history class began, Fermat stopped by Alan's desk. "Wh-When are our d-dads coming again?"

"Next week. Friday, Dad said," Alan replied, looking perplexed.

"Y-You're sure it's not th-this F-Friday?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I think he'll be here for my first meet. Why?"

"M-My first m-m-m... quiz is this F-Friday!"

Alan took in his friend's wide-eyed shock and smiled in surprised delight. He wanted to say something more, but their teacher walked into the room just then and Fermat had to scurry over to his seat.

After class, the two boys caught up with each other and walked together; Alan heading for the gym and Fermat for the building next door. The intermittent rain was now a foggy drizzle that coated the boys' jackets with a damp mist.

"So your first quiz is _this_ Friday?"

"Uh-huh," Fermat said, nodding. "We have p-practice today and t-tomorrow, then we're on."

Alan whistled. "Wow, they don't waste any time, do they? Hey, when's it going to be? I'd like to be there to cheer you on."

Fermat gave his friend a stricken glance, then looked down at his feet. "It's an a-away meet."

"Damn!" Alan muttered, scowling. "And I can't leave campus with anyone but family, your dad, or Lady Penelope." He watched his friend's face for a moment, then added, "I'm going to ask Dad if he'll let me go off-campus with someone else. Maybe I can talk Zave into going or something."

Fermat turned his head toward Alan, a serious expression on his face. "I'd be c-c-c... great if y-you could be th-there, but d-d'you think your dad would let you? And d'you th-think Zave would g-go for it?"

The older boy shrugged. "I dunno, but nothing ventured, nothing gained." He clapped Fermat on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll figure something out." He held out a fist, and the younger boy tapped it with his own, then Alan reciprocated. Looking up and ahead of them, he said, "Gotta run, or I'll be late for strength training." He broke into a jog, then called over his shoulder, "See you at lunch!"

"R-Right!" Fermat called as Alan broke into a run. He turned toward the building he was in front of and jogged quickly up the front steps.

In the locker room, Alan hurriedly changed out for his strength training class. The inside of his locker was damp from the sodden clothes he'd hung up there. He shook his head, muttering to himself. "There's got to be a better way."

The class was stretching when Alan finally got into the weight room. He joined in, stretching his muscles. Coach Beccara came up to him.

"Alan, get warmed up at the lateral bar. I want you to demonstrate the lat pull first. Then some bicep curls. I'm going to break the class up into smaller groups and have them work on one station at a time, moving around four different stations as they learn."

"Yes, sir," Alan said with a nod. He headed over to one of the strength training machines and examined it thoroughly. He then set the lateral bar to a much lighter weight than he was used to. Sitting on the bench and facing the machine, he grasped the bar above him, his two hands spread wider than his shoulders as they gripped it. He pulled it down smoothly to the base of his neck in the front, then raised it again. Ten quick repetitions of this, and he knew he was ready to demonstrate the exercise for his classmates. Getting up, he increased the weight to something more like what he would have used at home. _While I'm demonstrating the exercise, I might as well do it for real._

After class, Alan took a few moments to run back to his dorm and deposit his wet track clothes in his bathroom, then headed out for the dining hall, wearing a hooded school jacket. It suddenly came to him that if he stayed on the track team, he'd be eligible for a letter jacket. The thought made him smile.

_I am going to do my damnedest to get that letter,_ he silently vowed. _That means making practice today, and setting aside some time for more strength training._

The lunch line was sparsely populated by the time he got there, so he was spared a repeat of the previous evening's fiasco. He found his friends sitting at a different table than usual, and saw that Erik had joined them.

"Erik said he knew you and asked if he could sit with us," A.J. explained. "I didn't think anyone would mind."

"Hey, it's okay with me," Alan said, as he set down his tray. "Why are you all over here?"

"A group of seniors and juniors took over the table we usually sit at," Qaeshon said sourly. "None of Sugi's crowd, but still..."

"It's n-not like our n-names are e-e-e... written on the t-table." Fermat took a swallow of milk. "It doesn't m-matter where we s-sit as long as we sit t-t-t... as a gr-group."

"The Brain is right," Jason said with a nod. He glanced up as someone approached the table. "Here comes Bertoli," he whispered.

Alan chewed hard at Jason's warning, trying to get his mouthful of meatball sub sandwich down. Dom came up behind him, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Alan whirled, put up a finger to indicate that Dom should wait a moment, then gulped down half a carton of milk, and wiped his face with a napkin.

"Hey, Dom," he said, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

"Hey, Alan," Dom replied. He moistened his lower lip by sucking it slightly between his teeth. "Listen, can I talk to you about the rooming situation?"

"Yeah, sure," Alan replied. "Fermat, could you move for a couple of minutes so Dom can sit?"

Fermat blinked owlishly, startled. "O-Oh, sure, Alan." He started to pick up his tray, but Qaeshon, who sat across from him, moved in and lifted it for him. There was a seat available next to Kay, meant for Xavion when he came to lunch. But there was no sign of the senior yet, so Fermat moved around the table to give Dom the needed room.

"Thanks, Fermat, Kay," Dom said with a nod. He sat next to Alan, his body turned and oriented toward the younger teen, one forearm laying on the table.

Alan indicated his food, which was barely touched. "Do you mind if I...?"

Dom waved a hand. "No, go right ahead." As Alan took another bite of his hot sandwich, Dom took a deep breath and said, "Listen. I'm sorry about yesterday. It was kinda shocking to find out that one minute I have a roommate, and the next, he's gone. I wasn't ready to talk about you moving in, and to be frank, a few of my friends were pushing for me to put 'no' on the confirmation form." He tapped his fingertips lightly on the table. "I won't say that the possibility of having a room of my own wasn't tempting because it sure was. But... I had a talk with my folks last night, and my mom told me that if I said I'd do something, then – barring some real reason that I couldn't – I should follow up and do it. So, I've sent the confirmation form in to Mrs. Belvedere."

Alan's eyes lit up, and he worked hard again to clear his mouth. "Hey!" he said when he was finally able to. "That's great! I am sooo sick of Sugi and his attitude. When can I move in?" His brow furrowed a bit with a frown. "It can't be this afternoon; I have track practice."

"That's okay, Alan," Dom said. "Could you wait until Saturday? I want to clean things up a bit and move some stuff around. And do you mind taking the top bunk? Trey had the bottom one and with my asthma, I'd rather sleep nearer to the floor."

"Top bunk? No problem! I've got that now anyway." Alan grinned widely. "This is the best news I've had all week! I'd rather move in right away, but yeah, I can stand it until Saturday."

Dom's grin matched Alan's now. "Great! Thanks for being patient with me, and like I said, I'm sorry about yesterday. I think this arrangement can work out well for both of us."

"Me, too!" Alan held out his hand. Dom took it, and they shook hands once. "Now that this is all settled, want to join us for lunch?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I've already finished eating. I've got to run over to the yearbook office before next class. I'll talk to you later, though."

"Right."

Dom rose from the chair. "Saturday, then."

"Yeah, Saturday."

"See you all later, guys."

The members of the group each gave the departing teen a wave or a word, and he left them.

"Well, that was a surprise," Jason said, crumpling up his milk carton. "I thought for sure he wouldn't pass up the chance for his own room. I know I wouldn't... especially now."

"I'm glad he saw the light," Alan remarked. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and said, "Thank you, Mrs. Bertoli!"

His friends laughed. Alan turned his attention back to his food, finishing his lunch and listening to the conversations that the others were having.

"I wonder if the police have caught those guys yet," Qaeshon remarked.

"The ones that pushed you around?" Jason asked.

"Yeah. I haven't heard anything, and the police did say they'd keep me posted."

"I d-doubt they've g-got any good l-leads," Fermat remarked. "At l-least no one else has been a-a-a... beat up."

Qaeshon nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Maybe those creeps have decided it's not worth it."

Alan turned his attention to Erik. "So, what do you think we'll do this afternoon? It looks like the rain isn't letting up."

Erik shrugged. "I have no idea. It's not like we can practice in the gym." He chuckled. "I can just see a shot put taking out a window."

"Or leaving a hole in the concrete blocks," Alan said with a grin. "Hey, here comes Zave!"

Xavion settled into the seat next to Alan with a heavy sigh. "Don't talk to me until I've eaten half my lunch. I don't have much time," he told the rest of the group.

"Okay," Qaeshon replied.

A silence fell over the table as they waited for the senior to eat. He glanced around at the rest, and irritably asked, "Why are you all looking at me? Don't you have other things to talk about?"

That broke the ice, and the smaller conversations began again. Jason asked, "Hey, Pinky, need any help moving out on Saturday?"

"Yeah, I will," Alan said thoughtfully. "I guess waiting until then to move is a good thing. I can pack up what I don't need right now and have it ready."

"You moving, Pinky?" Zave asked thickly. He took a gulp of water to clear his mouth, then commented, "That'll be news to Sugi."

"Why?" Alan asked. "I told him my plans."

"Yeah, but he thought Dom had turned you down," Zave replied. He took another bite of sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. "In fact, the way he talked, he was sure of it."

"Well, we were all certain that Dom had turned Pinky down," Jason told the senior. "But he stopped by during lunch to tell Pinky that he had turned in the confirmation."

"Yeah," A.J. piped up. "He'd spoken with his parents and his mom told him to follow through."

Zave chuckled. "Good for his mom." Taking another bite, he chewed, swallowed, then glanced around the table, catching the eyes of all who sat there. "Just keep your eyes and ears open, huh, guys? Sugi... Sugi's not himself, and I don't know how he's going to react."

"That sounds like a pretty grave warning, Zave," Alan said, frowning. "What's got you spooked?"

"I'm not spooked, Pinky." The older teen finished off his sandwich. "I just have this feeling about him... like he'd do something stupid."

"B-But why?" Fermat asked. "H-He has so much to l-lose."

Zave shook his head, the short ends of his braids waving back and forth. "I don't know, Brain, and that's what concerns me. I don't know him anymore."

There was another silence, then Jason looked at the clock. "Sheesh! We'd better get going!"

The boys gathered their gear and their trays. Erik spoke to Fermat. "I'll take your tray for you," he offered.

"Th-Thanks," Fermat replied with a smile. "I a-appreciate it."

As the small group made its way to the tray return, Alan asked Xavion, "What will we be doing in practice today? I mean, the field's kinda wet."

"We'll have things to do, don't worry about that," Xavion said sourly.

"Okay." Alan glanced over at Erik, who nodded, indicating that he'd heard. They took care of their trays and met Fermat by the dining hall doors.

"S-See you guys later!" he called. The others said their own goodbyes as they went their separate ways to class.

xxxx

When classes were over, Alan went back to his dorm room to drop off his books and dress for practice. His best pair of athletic shoes were still wet, so he opted to wear what he'd been wearing all day long. Sugi came in while he was getting dressed, gave him a contemptuous look, and sneered, "Don't you have anything better?"

"I wasn't prepared to play sports," Alan said blandly. "But I'll get some better gear once I have the time to do so."

Sugi was about to retort when there was a knock at the door. It was clear that Lee wasn't going to open it, so Alan did.

"Grocery order for Alan Tracy," said the young man standing in the hall. He was holding a damp box with the name of the local store where Alan had placed his order.

"Yes!" Alan exclaimed with pleasure. "I've been waiting for this!"

The delivery man put down the box, pulled a data pad from a holster on his belt, and touched the screen with a stylus. He handed both pad and stylus over to Alan. "I need your signature... here," he said, pointing out the box on the screen.

"Right!" Alan settled the pad in the palm of his hand and carefully wrote his name where he was supposed to. The delivery man looked anywhere but at him until Alan thrust the equipment back into his hands.

"Thanks." The pad and stylus were quickly holstered, and the box was lifted into Alan's waiting arms. "Be careful; it's a bit heavy."

"Got it," Alan replied. He indicated the pad. "I've authorized a tip."

This changed the man's demeanor. He smiled. "Thank you. Have a good day."

"You, too!" Alan called as he turned back into his room, closing the door behind him.

Sugi was in the bathroom. Alan quickly put away most of his grocery order, and tucked the box containing the remainder under his desk. He was acutely aware of the time, and the fact that he had to be at practice... no matter what.

His roommate came out of the bathroom, sliding a finger along his nostrils. Alan glanced at him quickly; there was no sign of a syringe and no time to see if there were any vials in the trash can. Not that he thought there would be; after being caught with the syringe once, Alan figured his roommate wouldn't make the same slip twice. Sugi watched as Alan put on a warm, hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. "Where are you going?" he asked sarcastically, shaking his head. "For a run in the rain?"

"I'm going to track practice," Alan informed him coolly. He zipped up his sweatshirt, and leaned over to make sure his mildly damp shoes were properly tied. Standing, he glanced over at Sugi. "Aren't you?"

"Idiot." Sugi huffed. "There's no practice today. The field's too wet."

Alan's eyebrow went up and he gave Sugi a cautious look. "Really? When did you hear this?"

"Zave told me. On the way back to his dorm." Lee leaned up against the bunk bed and folded his arms. "Coach canceled practice."

The sophomore studied the senior for a long moment. _It does sound feasible that Coach might cancel practice. The track **is** going to be too wet. But I don't trust this guy. I think... no, I **know** what I need to do._

"Y'know something? I don't trust you," Alan said bluntly. "So I hope you won't mind if I find out for myself." He made sure he had everything he needed, and headed out of his room. He could hear Sugi snorting a laugh as he left.

The air outside was still damp and cool, and he was glad of his sweatshirt. He slipped his hands into the pockets in front and walked briskly toward the gym. Even if there was no practice, the walk would do him good.

Lights were on in the gym when Alan arrived, and the huge room had been sectioned off into halves by a floor-to-ceiling curtain that was a heavy, solid vinyl near the floor, and switched over to a mesh material roughly halfway up. Some of the soccer team occupied one side, running passing drills, and Alan had to wonder why their captain wasn't there to guide them. Ralph stopped long enough to stare as Alan passed through the opening at one end of the curtain.

"Hey, Alan!" a familiar voice shouted. Alan grinned; it was Xavion. Most of the team was clustered around him, and he moved to join them.

"Glad to see you made it," Erik said quietly as Alan pulled up beside the freshman. "Xavion was afraid you wouldn't."

"Nothing short of a natural disaster was going to keep me away from practice today," Alan said with satisfaction. _And I was right not to trust Sugi._

xxxx

Fermat didn't put down his pencil when he'd finished figuring out his equation. He was being timed and had sixty seconds to come up with his answer. They were in the first round of their practice, and this was his second question. After answering this, he was out of the round. He had been instructed to wait for the entire sixty seconds before answering, and if he put down his pencil, he could not pick it up again to correct his work.

"Mr. Hackenbacker?" Mr. Feng was working as moderator, and Devdan was keeping score.

"Th-The Mach number of an a-aircraft going 1762 meters per s-second is, five point three three n-nine."

"That is correct," Mr. Feng replied with a nod. His teammates murmured their congratulations, and Fermat got up to join Atif, who had already "quizzed out" and was sitting in a chair behind their team's table. Mr. Feng then directed a similar, more difficult mathematics question to Wei, who was sitting in for Devdan.

"Two more questions to go," Atif whispered. "Then all of our team will have quizzed out."

"I h-hope they answer c-c-c... right," Fermat replied softly.

"As do I." Their concern was well-founded. Of all the players on their team, both Tom and Timothy had failed to answer their questions correctly. Robbie was sitting this round out, helping Dev with the score keeping and timer. And none of the upperclassmen had made any mistakes.

"Gentlemen!" Mr. Feng said in a warning tone, directing his attention to Fermat and Atif. When their startled eyes met his, he continued, "Please be quiet. You might break the other team's concentration and a penalty would be assessed." He paused, then added, "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." "I u-understand, Mr. F-Feng."

"Good. No penalty is assessed at this time because it is a first offense and warning."

Fermat sighed lightly in relief. _There's so much more to this than meets the eye. Will we be ready for Friday?_

xxxx

"This is going to be a short practice today," Coach Evans said. "Just some stretching and warm up exercises. Xavion will be watching you to make sure you're stretching correctly and aren't going to hurt yourselves. Sometimes an incorrect stretch can be as dangerous as no stretch at all. I know some of you are veterans at this, but everyone can use a refresher now and then.

"While you're doing that, I'll be calling you into the locker room one at a time for blood and urine samples." He let his eyes roam over all the gathered boys. "There's been a rumor that some of our athletes are using performance-enhancing drugs. This is unacceptable behavior. To satisfy the coaching staff and the school administration, we are taking these samples and will have them analyzed at a nearby lab. Anyone who is found to have these drugs in their system will be summarily banned from sports for the entire year. This is a mandatory test; no one is exempt."

He sighed and picked up his data pad, then turned to the tall team captain. "Xavion, you can start them off." Looking down at the pad's read out, he called, "Adams, Geoffrey."

One of the sprinters hesitated, looking around him uneasily, but the coach was waving him toward the locker room door, and he finally gave a small shrug and jogged over to Coach Evans.

"Okay, eyes up here!" Xavion called. "We're going to start with some lunges..."

Alan looked up every so often as a team member rejoined the rest of the group and the coach called another name. He noticed that there were other students entering the locker room at intervals, soccer players from the other side of the gym. As the coach called the names in alphabetical order, the butterflies in his stomach grew. _Why are you nervous, Tracy_, he asked himself. _You know you're clean._

"Lewis, Xavion!"

At the coach's call, the senior turned to another team member and had him come up to continue with the drills. Alan kept his eyes on their new leader until Zave came out again.

"Okay," the team captain said. "We're at the halfway point. Those of you who have already give samples are to come with me to the track for a run. Not a long one, just six laps around the track itself. Steve Ulrich is last in line; when he's done, he'll bring the rest of you out for a run, then you'll be dismissed."

Erik turned to Alan. "This is one time I wish my name was in the first half of the alphabet," he said wryly.

"You and me both," Alan replied as they watched half of the team jog out of the gym.

"Murphy, Sean," called the coach.

Students came and went, until finally Coach Evans called out, "Sugimoto, Lee." Alan took a moment to stop his warm up and look around for his roommate. Lee was nowhere to be seen. _Coach Beccara will probably catch him with the soccer players,_ he reasoned. When Sugi didn't appear, then the coach called out, "Tolbert, Erik."

"Good luck, man," Alan wished his teammate.

"Thanks," Erik returned as he hurried over to the locker room. Alan turned his attention back to Steve, who was leading them through a few more stretches. It seemed to take forever before Erik returned, looking a little white.

"Hey, are you okay?" Alan asked, frowning slightly.

"Yeah," Erik replied. "I just don't do needles very well."

"Tracy, Alan."

Alan nodded at Erik, then loped over to the locker room door. Once inside, he found himself face-to-face with Ralph Santiago, who gave him a quick glance, then pushed past him.

There was a woman he didn't know sitting at a school desk. "What's your name?" she asked in a voice that told him she was bored.

"Alan Tracy."

"Alan Shepard Tracy?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She crossed his name off the list, pulled two stickers from the page she was working on, and put one around a glass vial, and the other around a plastic cup with a lid. "Go pee in the cup and hand it to the attendant. Then see Lydia over there to give her a blood sample."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied as he took the cup she handed him.

He looked around and saw Sandy standing next to one of the toilet stalls. Ms. Bell's assistant waved him over. "Over here, Alan."

Alan sighed, and made his way to where Sandy waited. _Somehow, I knew this would happen._

_

* * *

What will the test results bring? Will Fermat do well in his first meet? When will Alan move in with Dom? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	27. Unmistakably Brothers

_Author's note: _Alan converses. Fermat gets a boost. Gordon and Virgil horse around. A disappointment. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Hey, Zave!" Alan called to the senior, who had just left the gym. Xavion stopped momentarily to let the sophomore catch up, then the two of them walked together in the direction of the dorms. 

"Did Sugi get tested?" Alan asked.

Xavion frowned, keeping his eyes firmly ahead of him. "No. He sent word to the coaches that he had a cold and couldn't make practice."

"A cold?" Alan shook his head. "Sure didn't sound like it when he told me practice was canceled."

Xavion stopped in his tracks and gave Alan an unbelieving glare. "He told you _what_?"

Alan stopped and turned back toward the team captain. "He told me," he said succinctly, "that he had heard from you that Coach Evans had canceled practice on account of the field being too wet. Said he'd seen you when you were on your way back to the dorms."

"Damn!" Xavion stomped a foot to emphasize his frustration. "What is _with _him? Lying through his teeth to me, to the coaches... where did this _come_ from?"

Alan shrugged. "I wish I knew, Zave." He frowned thoughtfully. "Though he did sorta wipe his nose when he came out of the bathroom...," he said in a hopeful tone.

The senior's eyes went wide. "Oh no. No. I hope not. I hope to heaven that's not what's going on," he said in a voice full of dread.

"What?" Alan asked, curious and concerned at the same time.

Xavion took a deep breath and composed himself. He looked at Alan, and gave him a grim smile. "Don't worry about it, Pinky. You're moving out of that room, and the coaches will see that Sugi gets tested. It'll all work out."

Alan scrutinized the taller boy, then nodded. "Okay." He glanced up as the lights came on all over campus, defining the wet mist that still fell. "I'm going to change clothes again and get into something drier."

"Me, too."

The two walked in step again, quiet for a few moments. _This is as good a time as any_, Alan thought. "Hey, Zave?"

"Hmm?"

"Uh, I understand you've got driving privileges and a car."

"Yeah, I do," Xavion turned his head, glancing at Alan. "You need to go to town or something?"

"Well, not exactly," Alan replied, flinching a bit. "Y'see, the academic quiz team's first meet is Friday night. It's an away game, and I was wondering... could you take me there?" He hurried to explain. "I mean, it's Fermat's first ever and I'd kinda like to be there to cheer him on."

Xavion snorted a laugh. "Quiz team meet? Never been to one of those before. Who else is on the team?"

Alan frowned, nonplussed. "I'm not really sure... other than Dev Israni; he's the team captain." He gave Xavion a hopeful look. "I can find out."

"Friday night?" The senior sounded thoughtful. "Where is it?"

Alan's heart sank. "I don't know that either." He paused, then added, "Listen, we can ask Fermat at dinner. I know he'll have the details."

"Okay, you ask him at dinner. I want more information before I commit myself and my car to an off-campus trek of any distance. I'm not from around here, y'know." He glanced at Alan. "When do you need a decision?"

"Sometime tomorrow," Alan replied. "My dad's got to send a permission, and he'll want to know who's driving. Right now I can't leave campus unless a family member is with me. Though I _can_ go to the track meets; that's been taken care of."

"All right. I'll let you know." By this time they were at Chetwood's front door. "I'll see you at dinner, Pinky."

"See you then, Zave."

The older boy raised a hand in farewell as Alan climbed the steps two at a time. _Now for some dry clothes, then hot food. Man, am I hungry!_

xxxx

"Whew!" Fermat walked alongside Dev Israni, headed for Maplewood. "Th-That was t-tough!"

"Indeed it was," Dev agreed, shifting Fermat's book bag to his other hand. He had offered to help the younger boy with his things since they were going in the same direction. "But now you know more what will be expected of you on Friday evening."

Fermat looked down in an effort to keep the mist off of his glasses. "I'm n-nervous about th-this. What if I s-s-s... m-make a mistake?"

"Then you make a mistake," Dev answered gently. "It is not the end of the world, my friend. Win or lose, if you do your best, it is all we can ask."

"Still," Fermat said with a wry smile, "it would b-be embarrassing."

"True, but only to yourself." Dev smiled wearily. "Few people come to our meets. They are more interested in the sports programs."

"Well, th-that might change," Fermat replied, a smile playing around his lips. "Alan wants to c-come, and if he does, others m-might."

"How would he get there?" Devdan asked, frowning. "We usually take a school van, and with the equipment, there will be no room for spectators."

"He's going to ask Z-Zave Lewis to d-d-d... provide transportation."

"Hmm. That would be indeed interesting, especially if Mr. Lewis himself stayed to watch." Dev shifted the book bag again. "To have a top athlete show interest in our little competition might bring a greater spotlight on it."

"M-My dad is c-coming to our second m-meet," Fermat added. "With M-Mr. Tracy. I'm sure that A-Alan will come to that one t-too."

"Then you must put forth an extraordinary effort," Devdan said, patting Fermat on the back. "As I know you can."

Fermat shrugged in a self-deprecating way, smiling. _It feels good to belong to something special._

xxxx

"So, has anyone spoken to the sprout since the rescue?" Scott said as he joined the family around the pool.

"I did," Jeff replied. "He knows that we're all right. I gave him permission to check out the tertiary drive as long as Fermat's roommate isn't around. All the logs are there."

"Still, he'd probably appreciate a call from one or more of us," Virgil said. He checked his watch. "It's what? Five thirty there? Sounds like a good time to call."

"If he's not on his way to dinner," Gordon chimed in from the pool's warm waters.

"Or at track practice," Jeff added. He rose from his lounger. "I need to get some work done in my office. You can give him a call, Scott, then update your maintenance and flight logs. I noticed that you were the only one that hadn't."

"Yes, sir," Scott said, stifling a sigh. He watched as Jeff walked off, and when his father was out of earshot, he moaned, "I hate paperwork."

Virgil grinned as he got up from his chair. "I'd think you'd be used to it from the Air Force and all."

Scott directed a scowl in his brother's direction. "I hated it there, too," he grumbled. "I guess I'd better make that call, then get cracking on those logs." He turned to his brothers. "You want in on the call?"

"Sure!" Virgil said as he jumped in the pool, too near to Gordon for the latter's comfort.

"Hey! Quit that!" Gordon cried, giving Virgil a shove, throwing his elder brother off balance and backwards into the water. He glanced up at Scott. "Yeah, I'd like to talk to Alan, too."

"All right. I'll go get my phone." With that, Scott stood and hurried into the house. That left Virgil and Gordon together in the pool. Gordon eyed Virgil with a suspicious squint, while Virgil returned the scrutiny with a cheeky smile and a raised eyebrow. That eyebrow slowly descended as a slow, smug smile spread over Gordon's face. His eyes flicked briefly to something – or someone – over Virgil's left shoulder. Virgil tried to decide whether or not to turn; he hadn't seen Scott come out again, or Jeff for that matter, but there were other ways to the pool that could have bypassed his vision. Now he was the one with the suspicious squint, and Gordon wore the smile, more a calculating expression than an outright smirk.

Gordon's eyes flicked away again, and Virgil could stand it no longer. He turned at the waist to look behind him, and that's when three things happened in rapid, dizzying succession. Gordon grabbed the waistband of Virgil's trunks, pulling them sharply down and towards him, knocking Virgil off his feet and under the surface. The trunks slid off with another strong tug and, with his brother's swimsuit firmly in hand, the younger man beat a hasty retreat to the side of the pool. He hauled himself onto the patio as his victim came back up, sputtering both water and curses.

"Gordon, you are dead meat!" Virgil cried, pushing his hair back with a hand. "Give me back my trunks!"

"Come and get 'em!" Gordon teased, moving away from the pool's edge, out of his irate brother's reach. He held the swim wear up with both hands, and looked at them critically. "Virge, you are seriously deficient in taste!"

Virgil took a quick look around, then hefted his naked form out of the water. Gordon stepped back, then glanced toward the house and waved. "Oh, hi, Onaha!"

"Augh!" Virgil turned speedily and dove back into the pool. When he surfaced again, Gordon was pointing at him and laughing heartily.

"Gotcha!" he crowed. His brother surveyed the area from the protective waters; Onaha was nowhere to be seen.

"Why you..." Virgil swam over to the side of the pool, and started to climb out again. Gordon danced backwards, laughing and waving the swimsuit... only to back up into the newly returned Scott.

"Here, Virge! Catch!" Scott snatched the trunks from Gordon's hand and threw them to their owner, who caught them, grinning widely. Gordon, always one for self-preservation, took off, skirting the rounded edge between the upper and lower pools, trying to avoid knocking over the decorative plants Kyrano had placed there.

Scott gleefully followed, while a now-decently clothed Virgil pulled himself from the water in front of Gordon. With his attention given to the potted greenery, Gordon failed to notice the pincer movement until it was too late... and his laughing brothers had thrown him bodily into the pool!

"Gotcha!" Virgil shouted triumphantly as Gordon surfaced, scrubbing the water from his face.

"Okay, you got me," the younger brother replied grumpily. "I'll even the score later, with both of you!"

Scott grinned and rounded the pool again to the little table where he'd left his phone. Virgil joined him, grabbing a towel, and tousling his hair to a spiky semblance of dryness. Gordon climbed out of the pool and took a towel to wipe the water from his face and hair. While the damp duo was trying to look more or less presentable, Scott set his phone up with an external speaker, then speed-dialed Alan's number and waited for an answer.

xxxx

Alan had just put on his jacket again when he heard the jangling sound of an old novelty song, "Into The Air, Junior Birdmen", coming from his desk drawer. He grinned, unlocked the drawer and pulled out his phone. Selecting "voice only", he put it up to his ear. "Hey, Scott!"

"Hey, Sprout!" Scott replied. "How come no picture?"

"I'm on my way to dinner and it's kinda rainy," he said, pulling up his jacket's hood as he left his room. "The phone's safer under my hood."

"Oh, okay."

Alan jogged down the dorm's front steps and into the wet, misty twilight. His grin widened as he heard two other voices calling out greetings from the background. "Hey, Alan!" "What's new, Sprout?"

"It's good to hear you guys! What have you been up to?" he called. "And don't call me 'Sprout'," he added as an afterthought.

"Oh, you know," Scott said airily. "Same old, same old. Lounging around the pool..."

"Removing Virgil's trunks..." Gordon cut in.

"Rescuing fair damsels..." Virgil added, too quickly for Gordon's reply to have registered.

"_We_ didn't do that, Virge; Dad did," Scott clarified.

"Dad did what?" Alan asked, trying to untangle his brothers' conversation. He put a hand in his jacket pocket as he strolled in the direction of the dining hall.

"Rescued a fair damsel... well, I didn't get a good look at her but she was a damsel anyway," Scott amended. "And he got an – ahem - appropriate reward."

"Ooooh!" said the other two boys, turning toward each other, their eyes getting comically big. Alan could imagine their reaction, and he laughed at the image.

"Dad told me a little about what happened, but not about any reward," he said, his voice somewhat wistful. "What kind of reward are we talking about?"

"Oh, you know, the standard 'damsel in distress' type reward," Scott replied blandly.

Alan blinked. "She gave him... sex?"

"No!" Scott snorted in derision. Alan could hear Gordon and Virgil howling with laughter in the background. "Sex! What kinds of fairy tales did _you_ read? She kissed him!"

"Ohh!" Alan replied, nodding his head and trying to sound wise. "I see. So, she kissed him." He shrugged, not remembering that his brothers couldn't see it. "What's the big deal about that?"

"Well, this is _Dad_ we're talking about here, Sprout," Scott went on to say. "Not the blushingly handsome pilot of Thunderbird One, or the dashingly debonair driver of Thunderbird Two. Or even the fairly passable helmsman of Thunderbird Three... oh, excuse me, it was_ Four_ on this occasion." He paused for breath. "This was Dad. The old man. The guy we're giving gray hairs."

"Hey, cut him some slack, Scott." Alan could hear Gordon in the background. "He's got the luscious Lady P. on a string. There's got to be _something_ in the old man yet."

"And I'm sure that Lady P. will have a word or two to say when she hears about this 'reward' business," Virgil chimed in.

Alan felt a little jab of something, a tiny flare of anger and a feeling of unfairness when it came to his father and Lady Penelope. But he swallowed it and, hoping his voice didn't betray him, said, "Aw, Lady P. will be okay with it. She's cool."

"That's what Dad said, Sprout," Scott explained. "I'd like to be a fly on the wall..."

"You'd probably get swatted," Alan riposted, "whether you were a fly or not!" He looked up to find himself in the lobby of the dining hall. His legs, as if on autopilot, had taken him there. "Hey, guys, it's time for my dinner. It's been great talking to you, and I'll catch you again later, okay?"

"Sure, Sprout," Scott replied. "Go fill your face."

"What's on the menu tonight?" Gordon asked.

Alan crossed to the board that listed the evening's choices. "Uh, beef bourguignon over noodles, Normandy blend veggies, French bread, and éclair for dessert."

"Sounds... uh... scrumptious," Virgil said in a tone that indicated he thought just the opposite.

"Ah, yes," Gordon said, reminiscing. "French night. I'd watch out for those noodles. As I remember, they've got the consistency of fire hoses!"

"Yeah, they do, don't they!" Alan laughed with his brothers, then said, "Hey! I just remembered something! Tell Dad that I got permission to change rooms! I'll be moving my stuff over on Saturday!"

"Really? What happened to your first roommate?" Scott asked.

"Did your smelly socks drive him off?" Virgil quipped.

"No, doofus." Alan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Listen, it's too complicated to tell you about right now. I'll send you an email and explain. But make sure Dad knows, please?"

"Okay, Sprout, we will," Scott agreed. "Go eat dinner. We'll talk later."

"All right, guys. Talk to you later," Alan replied. "Bye! And stop calling me Sprout!"

xxxx

At the dinner table, Alan asked Fermat about the meet between bites. "So, where is this meet of yours?"

Fermat finished swallowing his milk, then said, "In a town called Shrewsbury. There's another 'b-boys only' school there: St. J-John's. Mr. Feng s-says it will take nearly t-t-two hours to get there. We've got p-permission to skip p-part of l-last hour."

"What time will it be?" Alan sat back, a growing feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Five-thirty," Fermat said, sounding miserable. "You have p-practice, don't you?"

"Yeah," Alan said with a sigh. "I can't miss it, and neither can Zave." He nodded, a single, sharp head motion. "Damn! I wanted to be there!"

"Me, too!" Qaeshon added, frowning. "It would have been cool to see the Brain in action."

"I appreciate the s-sentiment, but now that I th-think about it, I'd rather there b-be as f-few witnesses as p-possible to what could be a sp-spectacular crash and burn," Fermat replied wryly. "If t-today's practice was any i-indication, we've g-got our work c-c-c... it'll be tough." He shrugged. "At l-least you c-can make it to the s-second meet. That's a 'home g-game'."

"Yeah, and both our dads will be there, too," Alan said. He put a hand on Fermat's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'm just peeved that I can't see the first one."

The sudden hush at the table surprised Alan, as did Jason's pointed glance and nod at his hand, still resting on his friend's shoulder. Fermat turned to see what the subtle fuss was about, and suddenly, both boys were aware of the possible implications from that simple, comforting gesture. Fermat's face flamed red, and Alan jerked his hand back almost as if it were hot, dropping it momentarily into his own lap. They both swallowed noticeably, and each let out a deep breath, almost in unison. Fermat picked up his fork, and Alan grabbed his milk.

"I can't wait until this rumor's put to rest," Alan muttered.

"You and me, b-both," Fermat agreed.

_

* * *

How will Fermat's team do? What will Sugi say when he realizes that Alan's moving? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	28. Uneventful Day

_Author's note: _Two rooms, two roommates, two different levels of tension. Fermat sneaks a peek. Alan and Erik eat breakfast together. The gang has a relatively quiet day. Sugi confronts Alan. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

The rest of Wednesday was relatively quiet. Alan worked on his homework at his desk, trying to ignore the heavy, frosty silence that lay between him and his roommate. He also listened for signs of the cold that Sugi had told Xavion about; apart from a few sniffles, there were none. 

_When should I tell him about moving over to Dom's place? _he thought, tapping his stylus on his chin. _Should I tell him at all, or just do it?_ He risked a quick glance in Sugi's direction. _He threatened at one point to make Dom's life hell if Trey was bounced. I wouldn't put it past him to do the same if he knew that I was changing rooms. So, I won't tell him at all. Let him be surprised._ That decision made, Alan let out a quiet sigh, and relaxed a little. Then he turned back to his Spanish assignment.

The atmosphere in Fermat's room was far more congenial. He and A.J. were doing homework but every so often there'd be a comment or two about how the day had gone or what their plans were for Thursday.

"D-Don't forget we have l-laundry pick up, t-t-t... in the morning," Fermat reminded his roommate.

"Oh, yeah! Thanks for reminding me!" A.J. exclaimed, smiling. "I'll take care of that now while I'm thinking about it."

As soon as A.J. disappeared into the bathroom, Fermat reopened the window he had for the tertiary drive. He hadn't heard anything about the rescue since seeing the newscast, not from his father or from Alan. _I'll deal with Alan tomorrow, and talk with Dad after Friday night. But at least I can get the details here._

He read quickly through Jeff's terse, dispassionate overview of the whole situation with the _Scrutiny, _then his father's equally terse recounting of things from his point-of-view at Command and Control. _Hmm. Dad really doesn't get much action back at base, does he?_

The bathroom door whooshed open, and Fermat brought his homework window up to cover the logs. A.J. slung his bag of dirty clothes to the floor near the door, and resumed his seat, putting his earphones in. Fermat had learned that his roommate liked to listen to classical music while doing homework. "You know what they say about Mozart and being smart," A.J. had sheepishly confided. "My mother told me once that she played it for me when I was a baby." He had shrugged. "I slept through the night earlier, which I think is what she really wanted. In any case, I've developed a taste for it."

"H-Hey, different strokes for different f-f-f... people," Fermat had replied. "I'm rather fond of jazz myself."

He had also discovered that when A.J. was concentrating hard, the younger boy would start to unconsciously hum bits of whatever he was listening to. The humming was pleasant, and on-key, so Fermat usually took no notice... until now. He worked on his page of Spanish translation, listening for the tell-tale hum, and smiled slightly when it began. He gave himself a full sixty seconds - counted off by the computer's clock - then brought the smaller window to the top again.

_Hey, Scott's logs are here now. Let's see what he thought of the rescue._

Scott's style was usually brief and to the point, but this time it seemed that the Thunderbird One pilot had allowed himself a bit of a teasing dig at his commander. "Though we have been cautioned time and again to politely refuse gifts from those we rescue, it seems that the Commander is not above accepting a small gratuity from time to time himself."

_Wonder what kind of gratuity Scott's talking about?_ Fermat wondered. He shrugged and closed Scott's log. Listening briefly to his roommate, who was still humming, he worked on a few more lines of Spanish homework, then pulled up Virgil's recounting. _Virgil's logs are always fun to read. He makes a story out of it and puts in lots of description._

He quickly read through Virgil's log, which wasn't that long considering that most of what Thunderbird Two had done was hover. But by the end of it, he had gotten a good idea of the way the winds buffeted the cargo carrier, the choppiness of the sea, the view of foamy white breakers on the swelling waves, and the twisted metal remains of the Sealink's cradle lying on _Scrutiny's_ deck.

The sudden cessation of humming and the opening of the fridge door brought him back from the sea, and he hurriedly clicked on his homework, bringing the full page to the top again.

"Want a soda?" A.J. asked.

"S-Sure," Fermat replied. "A r-root beer, p-please."

A.J. took out a brown glass bottle, unscrewed the prickly metal cap, and handed it over. He looked over Fermat's shoulder at the homework, as the older boy took a swig. "You're still working on that?"

"Uh, yeah," Fermat responded, hoping he sounded sheepish and not nervous. "Got to d-d-d... woolgathering for a few m-minutes."

A.J. nodded sagely. "I understand." He drank some of his own root beer and glanced back at his desk. "I'd better get back to work."

"M-Me, too."

With that, A.J. went back to his computer, and Fermat breathed an internal sigh of relief.

xxxx

Thursday dawned cold and clear. Alan was up early and out before Sugi rolled out of bed. The walkways were still damp and full of small puddles, but Alan didn't mind the dampness. The shoes he'd worn for running the day before weren't fully dry, but he wore them anyway, knowing he'd be getting them wet all over again. _Definitely got to get to town and buy some new athletic shoes. These are getting ruined._

He found Erik sitting alone again, and decided to keep the freshman company. Erik smiled widely when Alan plunked his breakfast tray down across the table.

"Hey, Alan!"

Alan returned the smile. "Hey, Erik. Good thing it's gonna be sunny today, huh?"

Erik nodded as he swallowed the gulp of milk he'd just taken. Once his mouth was clear, he said, "Yeah. I was afraid it'd never stop raining."

"Just wait until we really get into winter." Alan forked up a bit of scrambled eggs, chewed, swallowed, and added, "You'll really think the sun's gone away. But when it comes out over the fresh snow..." Alan sliced his hand slowly through the air, indicating a smooth surface of some sort.

"I know, I know," Erik said, grinning. "I'm from New Hampshire. We get that all the time." He glanced up, and nodded his head in the direction of the dining hall's entryway. "Look. There's your roommate."

Alan turned around to see Sugi enter, surrounded by two or three other teens, including Ralph. They were laughing at something, but it seemed to be confined to their own little group. Alan sat back in his chair and scowled. "I hope the coaches can grab him today for his drug testing," he said, glancing back at Erik.

"I'm sure they will." Erik put his focus back on his food, as did Alan, and they finished their meals in a companionable quiet.

When they were finished with their meals, they walked together to the tray return, chatting about life in general and their families in particular. Pierce was working, and he leered at them. "Got another special friend, Tracy?"

"Got two brain cells to rub together, jerk?" Alan shot back, shoving his tray toward the kitchen worker.

Pierce was thrown off-balance slightly, and let forth a startled, "Whoa! Someone's cranky!" He put the tray into the dishwasher rack, and turned his attention to Erik. He grinned maliciously. "Hey, kid. Do you know what they say about Tracy here? He doesn't like girls."

Erik handed over his tray, then folded his arms. "So what?" he said contemptuously. "No crime there." He turned to Alan, and made a motion toward the door with his head. "C'mon, Alan. We don't want to be late for our run."

The two boys paced each other as they left the dining hall together. "Nice comeback, Alan," Erik said. "I'll have to remember that one."

"With four older brothers, I've picked up a lot of good lines," Alan explained. He gave Erik a friendly swat on the arm. "Thanks for sticking up for me."

Erik grinned. "No problem."

They entered the gym, where Xavion and some of the other track team members waited. After greeting the others, Alan leaned up against the gym wall, his arms folded. He watched idly as the soccer team left the gym for their run. Xavion came up to him, and said, "Hey, Alan. Look." He nodded his head once, motioning toward the locker rooms on the other side of the gym.

Alan turned his attention toward where Xavion had indicated, and saw a small group of boys - including Lee Sugimoto - being led off by Coach Becarra and Ms. Bell's assistant, Sandy. He nodded slightly. "Good."

xxxx

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly. Both Alan and Fermat felt that they were settling at last into the routine of classes. They had a surprise quiz in Math, and their first visit to the computer center for a Spanish pronunciation exercise. Lunch felt almost normal; there was no harassment for a change. Alan was able to spend more time working on his own routine during strength training while still helping Mr. Becarra with the other students. And Fermat's Shakespeare class prepared for a test on the background of the Bard and his times, while gearing up for their study of _Henry V_.

"We're even going to w-w-w... see a m-movie," he told the others at dinner.

"Do you think you're ready for the big show tomorrow?" Qaeshon asked.

"M-Maybe," Fermat said, suddenly sounding nervous. "I'll only kn-know when I g-g-g... arrive." He speared a grape tomato and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes, enjoying the slight explosion that filled his mouth with juice and seeds as he bit down. Chewing and swallowing, he added, "We got our j-j-j... uniform c-c-c... blazers today."

"Great!" Alan said, giving Fermat a thumbs up. "I'll be glad when we get our uniforms." He made a wry face. "I've got to ask my dad for permission to ride downtown with someone and get some better athletic shoes. The ones I've got are pretty soggy from our morning runs. Besides," he stopped to take a gulp of milk, "I wasn't really prepared for track anyway. I probably need a couple pairs of cleats."

"Yeah, you'd better get some, Pinky," Xavion said. "I'm going downtown Saturday morning, if you're interested."

Alan thought for a moment. "Let me get back to you on that, Zave. I'm supposed to move in with Dom that day, but I haven't set up a time or anything."

"Hey, I'm flexible," Zave said with a shrug. "We can go in the afternoon if that's better for you."

"Sounds good," Alan replied with a grin. "I'll get my dad to fax or email permission."

The boys at the table were quiet for a bit, then Fermat said, "Hey, J-Jason. Did you get any more d-details on the Th-Thunderbirds the other n-night?"

"A little," Jason replied. "They found the submersible and returned it to the ship it came from. Nobody died, and nobody else got hurt. If there was anything else of interest, it was on too late for me to see."

"Any pictures?" Qaeshon asked hopefully.

Jason shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Are there _ever_ any pictures? Besides, they were out in the middle of the ocean. No news crews could get there fast enough."

A.J. spoke up. "I'm going to have to do a sketch from what I remember from last spring."

"Do you think you can remember the details?" Alan asked, trying to sound eager and not anxious.

"I think so," A.J. said, nodding. "I've got a good memory. I'm just not the greatest of artists, that's all."

"Well, I'd like to see what you come up with, no matter what it looks like," Jason said, pointing his fork at A.J.

"Me, t-too," Fermat said before digging into his carrot cake.

Alan and Fermat walked together back to Maplewood. "I'm sorry, Fermat," Alan said, putting his hands in his jacket pockets and sighing. "I should have told you that I'd called home and gotten an update."

"W-Well, you're not the o-only one who f-forgot me," Fermat replied sourly, adjusting his sling's strap. "D-Dad didn't call either."

Alan lowered his voice. "My dad said we could check out the tertiary drive and see the logs and stuff... as long as we got A.J. out of the way."

"G-Good, 'cause I've already d-done that," Fermat said, a hint of smugness in his tone.

Alan gave Fermat a hurt look. "You could have waited for me, y'know?"

"And you c-could have t-t-t... s-said something," Fermat countered. "N-Now you'll h-have to wait for some other t-t-t... opportunity."

The two friends continued walking, the silence between them uneasy. Alan began to rotate his right shoulder, and pulled his left hand out of his pocket to rub it a bit.

"What's wr-wrong?" Fermat asked.

"My shoulder's a bit sore. Must be from throwing the javelin today at practice. I did get a good stretch and warm up for running and jumping, but forgot to stretch my arms and shoulders." He shook his head. "Last time I forget to do that." He shrugged his shoulder and rotated it some more, then stopped and put his hands back into his pockets. "Did I tell you what that Pierce guy said to Erik and me this morning?"

"N-No, you d-didn't."

Alan proceeded to tell his friend about the encounter with the kitchen worker. Fermat nodded and made the appropriate, understanding "mm hmms" in the right places.

Alan concluded with, "Did he say anything to you?"

Fermat shook his head. "No, he d-didn't. But then D-Dev was with us. He would have been sk-skewered by Dev's r-r-r... sharp wit."

The older boy snorted a laugh. "Yeah, compared to Dev, Pierce would have been totally unarmed."

By this time, they'd reached Maplewood and Alan stopped at the base of the dormitory steps. "Listen, I _am_ sorry I didn't tell you more about the latest 'family excursion' earlier. I've been pretty wrapped up in my own problems lately."

"I've n-noticed."

The dry tone of Fermat's statement wasn't lost on Alan. "I promise I'll do better about keeping you up-to-date."

"I h-hope so."

Alan put out his fist. "Still friends?"

Fermat looked at Alan's hand, then lightly tapped the top of the fist with his own. "We n-never stopped."

Grinning, Alan tapped Fermat's fist in return. "I'll see you in math tomorrow. Wish I could be there for the meet, but... there's just no way. Not with practice and all."

"I understand. You'll g-get to see me n-next week." Fermat reached to pull his jacket over his immobilized arm, and Alan lent a hand, helping him zip the open jacket up part way.

"You'll get to see me next week, too. Our first track meet of the season." Alan shuddered. "I hope I don't fall on my face."

Fermat chuckled. "At l-least, no m-more than u-usual."

"Ha!" Alan huffed. "Yeah, right... geek."

"D-Dork!"

Alan grinned. "Crackpot!"

"Goof b-ball!" Fermat sneered facetiously.

"Wombat!"

"Where'd you g-get wombat?" Fermat asked, giving Alan an incredulous look. He shook his head. "Never m-mind. Zombie!"

"Weirdo!"

"D-Dingbat!"

"No fair!" Alan protested through his laughter. "You can't reuse words or parts of words!"

"O-Okay, then." Fermat paused for breath, then said, "Flake!"

"Wacko!"

"D-Dipstick!"

"Kook!"

By this time, the two friends were laughing so hard that it was hard to get their insult out. Boys walking past were giving them strange looks.

"F-Fruitcake!"

Alan fought hard to catch his breath. He wagged a finger at Fermat. "No... no. Not that one."

"Ah... okay," Fermat said, nodding heavily as he gasped. The gasping trailed off into giggles again, and he managed to eke out, "P-Pinhead!" Alan collapsed into laughter again.

"Enough! Enough! I give!" Alan leaned over, breathing heavily, and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You won this time, Brain."

"Aw, c-come on, P-Pinky!" Fermat said, shaking his head and trying to control his laughing. "You don't h-h-h-have any m-more?"

"None that I can get out without peeing my pants," Alan replied. That set Fermat off again, so much so that his glasses slipped down to the end of his nose.

Alan calmed enough to stand straight and said, in a more normal tone, "Enough, Fermat." He reached out and put his friend's glasses back where they belonged. "Thanks for the laugh. I needed it."

"M-Me, too." Fermat slowly straightened, working hard to control the giggles that threatened, like hiccups, to force their way out. "Things have b-been entirely t-too tense l-lately."

"Yeah. You're right." Alan held out his hands palms outward. "But you know what Gords always says, 'A little song, a little dance'..."

Fermat interrupted. "D-Don't finish it!" he warned, shaking a finger. "I c-couldn't take it n-now."

"Oh, okay." Alan grinned. "I'd better let you go. We both have homework and studying to do."

"Yeah." Fermat turned to mount the steps to his dorm. "S-See you in m-math."

"Sure thing, Fermat. Goodnight!" Alan turned away, putting his hands back in his jacket pockets.

"G-Goodnight, Alan!"

Surprisingly enough, Sugi wasn't in their room for most of the evening. Alan did his homework in relative peace, but part of him was listening for the sound of the door opening and for the tension that had just eased to return in full force. It was just after the first warning that Lee returned. The knees of his jeans were damp, and smeared with mud and grass stains. Lee caught Alan looking at them, and said, "I was tossing around the football with a couple of friends. Not that it's any of _your_ business." The senior went into the bathroom to change, and brought out his laundry bag, flinging it toward the door. It landed beside Alan's. "Good thing it's laundry day tomorrow, huh?"

Alan nodded, but said nothing. He climbed into his bunk, made himself comfortable, and waited for lights out.

Sugi disappeared from Alan's line of sight as the older teen sat down on his bed. Alan could hear the creak of the bedsprings, then suddenly, Sugi was standing right beside him, his face just inches from Alan's. His sudden appearance caused Alan to draw back, startled.

"What do you want?" Alan asked.

Sugi's eyes narrowed. "I've heard a rumor that you're moving in with Dom Bertoli this weekend. Is it true?"

"Yeah, it's true. What about it?"

"Were you going to let your _current _roommate know about your change of plans?"

Alan shook his head. "Actually, no. I was going to surprise you."

"Yeah, it would have been a surprise all right," Sugi sneered. "I told Bertoli not to do it."

"Well, it looks like you're not as impressive as his mother," Alan retorted, laying his head back down on his pillow. "I'd have thought you'd be happy to get rid of me."

"I will be. Don't worry, I will be."

The five-minute warning sounded, and Lee disappeared again. Alan shifted a bit. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. There had been something vaguely threatening about how Sugi had replied to his statement, something that Alan couldn't put his finger on, but it disturbed him nonetheless.

_One more day. Just one more day and I'm outta here,_ he thought. _Nothing's going to stop me, either._

With that last thought, he pulled up a little, punched his pillow a couple of times, lay back down, and the lights went out.

_

* * *

How will Fermat and his team do in their big first meet? Will Sugi try to interfere with Alan's move? Will Alan be able to go shopping? When will they getthe results of the drug testing? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	29. Unprecedented Meeting

_Author's note: _An event is canceled. A rare meeting is called. Bad news for Wharton. John finds a pertinent news item, and calls home. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

At early breakfast the next morning, Alan looked around for Erik, hoping to sit with his team member and new friend. When he couldn't spot the freshman, he sat down at the table that his little group usually used, and began to eat. 

"Alan."

He looked up to see Xavion standing on the other side of the table, looking very serious. "Morning run is canceled for today. If you see anyone else from the team, let them know, okay?"

"Canceled? Why?"

Xavion took a deep breath in and let it out in a long huff. "You'll find out soon. Just let people know as you see them, okay?"

"Sure."

Alan watched as Xavion stalked off toward a pair of track team members at another table. He glanced around the hall and noticed that Sugi was going around much as Xavion was, stopping here and there, and saying something to members of the soccer team. Oddly enough, he passed by Ralph, who kept his eyes on his breakfast and didn't look up. Alan shrugged. _They're so tight now that Sugi probably told him earlier. _He took a bite of his cold toast._ I wonder what's up?_

The lack of a team run gave Alan time to get a leisurely shower, and to read some of his next chapter in Adolescent Literature. They were reading _A Tale of Two Cities_, by Dickens, and he was having a hard time with some of the language. Finally, he gave up, and powered up his computer, entering his email program.

_Hey, Tin-Tin,_

_Sorry I've been such a pain in the butt about writing. Things have been pretty hectic here and I've been so wrapped up in everything going on. _

_As you know, Fermat and I were put in separate rooms this year. I was really mad about it at first, but now I can sort of see why we were split up. Fermat's roomie is like Fermat was last year; young, really super smart for his age, away from home and without any friends. He needed somebody like our favorite geek to turn to. I, on the other hand, ended up with a senior jock, one of the 'big men on campus' types. On the track team, captain of the soccer team, that kind of guy. Reminds me a little of Scott, actually. He seemed like a nice guy at first; even suggested I go out for track (which I did and I made the team!). I thought we were going to have a good year together, but it's all gone to hell in a hand basket and I have no real idea why. So I've got permission to switch rooms. _

_My new roommate will be a junior named Dom. He's the chief student editor of the yearbook, and has really bad asthma, so he can't play sports. At first he wasn't going to let me move in with him when his original roommate got bounced (long story, I'll tell you later), but I guess his family convinced him to honor his commitment, so I move in tomorrow (Saturday)._

_We're okay otherwise. I'm sure you've heard about Fermat breaking his arm, and he's made the academic quiz team, which has him really happy - and nervous. His first meet is today. Wish I could be there, but I've got track practice. I'm signed up for cross-country, long jump, high jump and I'm alternate on the javelin (don't ask me how I got that one!). Dad and Brains are coming out next week to see both me and Fermat strut our stuff. Maybe one or two of the guys can make it, too; we'll see._

_Hope you're getting along with your roommates, and you and your friends are having fun. Give my love to Lady P. Write whenever._

_Alan_

He looked it over to see what else he might say, changed "love" to "regards", argued under his breath with the spellchecker, then sent it off.

"There," he muttered. "Mission accomplished." He glanced at his computer's clock. "Damn! I'd better get moving! Where are my shoes?"

xxxx

"Mr. Tracy, you're late," Mr. Graboski said, scowling.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir," Alan said, nodding, as he made his way to his seat.

"I hope you have a very good reason... and a written excuse."

Alan sighed. "No, sir. I don't."

Mr. Graboski's bushy eyebrows climbed. "Indeed? Then see me after classes are through for some appropriate disciplinary action."

"Yes, sir."

The dour teacher looked out over his class, and gave an uncharacteristic sigh. "Unfortunately, we will be going to the auditorium for a special school-wide meeting, called by the administration just this morning. I expect us to return before the hour is out, so you may leave your things here. The classroom will be locked."

The students glanced at each other, murmuring a little. Alan shot Fermat a puzzled frown, and the younger boy responded by shrugging.

"Come, gentlemen. A single file, please! We will sit together in the auditorium and leave together as well."

Alan fell into line behind Fermat, and murmured to his friend. "Any idea what this is about?"

Fermat shook his head. "N-No, none."

Alan paused, then said, "I wonder if it had anything to do with our morning run being canceled."

"Your r-run was c-canceled?" Fermat looked away, then nodded. "That would e-e-e... that's why Z-Zave sat with us at b-breakfast." Glancing back at Alan, he added, "He was in a f-f-f... real bad mood."

"Quiet please!"

At the teacher's call, the two boys fell silent, both pondering what this unprecedented meeting was all about.

xxxx

John's jaw felt ready to dislocate with his prodigious yawn. It was just after 1 a.m. on Saturday, at least on the island, and he had been watching some of the _Doctor Who_ episodes that Brains had uploaded for him. Brains was a fan of the third Doctor, but John was intrigued more by the fourth Doctor, mostly because of K-9.

"Always been a sucker for dogs," he muttered as he stood and stretched, his fingers interlocked above his head. He had started to put the station on standby when he saw a small window flashing on a computer screen. Groaning, he made his way to the computer that collected news of interest to the Tracys or International Rescue. Frowning, he clicked on the window, and his eyes widened as he watched the small news snippet from a local TV station. When it was done, he replayed the recording, then sighed. "Do I wake him or not?"

The decision took only a moment. "Yes. I wake him. If I don't, the school soon will." Shaking his head slowly, he opened up communications between the space station and his home.

xxxx

Alan and Fermat settled down into one of the cushioned theater-style chairs that filled Wharton's auditorium. All around them, boys and teachers were doing the same, most of them stealing glances at the headmaster, Dr. MacDonald, who stood behind the stage's podium. He was a portly, dark-skinned man, balding, greying, and sporting a dark handlebar mustache peppered with silver. The headmaster pulled out his reading glasses, wiped them with a handkerchief, then perched them on the end of his thick nose, looking down at the small pile of papers he had before him. Of more interest, however, were the two police officers standing at ease to one side of the stage. Alan and Fermat both recognized Officer Vega from their run-in with Trey. Mrs. Belvedere was seated in a folding chair on the opposite side, her legs crossed at the knee, and her arms folded. Mr. Magnuson sat next to her, leaning forward, his hands on his knees.

"The dragon looks ready to breathe fire," Alan whispered to Fermat.

"Y-Yeah," Fermat murmured back. "Wonder what those p-p-p... cops are d-doing there."

"We'll find out soon," Alan said.

It took a few more minutes for the boys to finish filing in and settling down. Once it was clear that everyone was there, Dr. MacDonald cleared his throat. "Good morning."

A few of the audience echoed his greeting. He nodded, then continued. "I have called this meeting because of a series of incidents that have happened since the school year began. Two of our students were harassed by unknown assailants. They were not harmed, the police were informed, and the incidents were chalked up to bullying." He stopped, and cleared his throat again. "But last night, a third event took place that has caused the police to take a harder look at the first two. One of our students was beaten to the point of hospitalization..."

He was interrupted by a number of loud gasps and a general, unbelieving mumbling coming from the audience. Alan and Fermat exchanged glances. "Wonder who it was," Alan whispered. Fermat shrugged, indicating his ignorance.

As things quieted down again, the headmaster went on. "As a result of this assault, the New Ashford police department has sent along two representatives to speak to you about safety. They would also like to talk with the students involved in the other two incidents. Before they speak, however, our director of student affairs, Mrs. Belvedere, has something to say." He turned toward her. "Mrs. Belvedere?"

The director of student affairs stood and walked briskly to the podium. She gazed around at the assemblage as if daring any of the boys to interrupt her. "Thank you for your attention. The office of student affairs will be working throughout the day and very likely into the evening to contact your parents or guardians and inform them of this incident. We ask that the student body refrain from informing your families about this until we have had a chance to speak with them ourselves. We wish to give them the facts as we know them..."

"In other words, put the school in the best possible light," Alan murmured to Fermat.

"...And to keep the phone lines as clear so we _can_ inform them all."

"To k-keep parents from calling i-in and chewing them ou-out," Fermat muttered. Alan snorted a soft laugh.

"Supervised activities will proceed as usual this afternoon and evening; however, the games room, snack shop and other common areas will be closing early – and will continue to close early until this problem is resolved to our satisfaction. Curfew will be moved up to nine p.m. and will be _strictly_ enforced. Lights out will remain the same."

There was a loud groan from the students in the audience, and a good deal of muttered complaining. Mrs. Belvedere swept her eyes over the boys again, and the sound died down a good deal faster than it had for Dr. MacDonald. "We regret that things have come to this, but these measures are for your own safety. Abide by them and it will help keep our campus a much safer place." She turned to Mr. Magnuson and called him by name. He stood, and approached the podium.

The security head took a deep breath and let it out, fingering his collar and his tie. The audience, reading his nervousness, began to murmur again. He glanced down, and cleared his throat.

"Boys," he began, using a tone that sounded like a scoutmaster talking to his troop, "this is an unprecedented situation. Never in the many years that I have been head of security has something like this happened. Not only is it unprecedented, it's very serious. We'll need your cooperation to catch whoever is responsible for this. If you see anything out of the ordinary, anyone hanging around where they shouldn't be, someone you don't recognize, anything at all, tell us right away. I'd much rather you made an erroneous report than ignored something possibly leading to the apprehension of whoever is doing this... or leading to you possibly getting hurt, too." He paused, and tugged at his collar again. "We'll be adding more security people over the next couple of weeks and introducing them to you so you'll recognize them. I expect you to cooperate with them, and with the hall monitors and dorm supervisors, too. This is serious business, boys. We're going to do our part; you need to do yours." He glanced over at the officers. "I'd like to introduce Lieutenant O'Reilly and Officer Vega from the New Ashford police department. Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant O'Reilly, a tall, broad shouldered man with a buzz cut of pale red hair, readjusted his belt, and strode to the platform with a bounce to his step. "Good morning, gentlemen."

There was another, louder round of "good morning", and the officer grinned briefly. "As you've all heard, we've had some trouble here on campus, and the New Ashford police department has been called in to investigate. We echo Mr. Magnuson's instructions; if you see anything suspicious, report it to his office first. He'll investigate, then determine if we need to be called in. In the meanwhile, here are some things you should do to help keep safe."

He glanced down briefly at a sheet of paper that had been left on the podium for him. "First of all, stay in groups, especially during the early morning and the evening hours. Walk with your friends, with other people from your dorms, but _never_ alone. Only walk in well-lighted areas, and stick to the paved pathways; don't take short cuts. If someone you don't know speaks to you, don't respond, and if they insist on going with you, make your way quickly to the nearest dorm, or open, lighted building. Stay away from the playing fields, tennis courts, and academic buildings at night, unless you are with a supervised group. Always let someone know where you're going to be, and when you expect to return. And if a roommate is late coming home, tell your hall monitor immediately. The sooner someone in authority knows that something's amiss, the sooner that security can swing into action. And carry your cell phone, if you have one." He gave them another grin. "But put on your voice mail for class hours."

The audience chuckled, then settled down into murmurs again. They quieted when the lieutenant added, "As Mr. Magnuson has said, you do your part to stay safe, he'll do his part to keep you safe, and we'll do our part to find out who's behind this." He looked out over the auditorium, then glanced back to Dr. MacDonald. "That's all I have to say."

Dr. MacDonald came forward again, and shook hands with the lieutenant before assuming his place at the front of the stage again. He gazed out at the boys, then nodded to someone in back. "Would the teachers please stand?"

Alan and Fermat joined their classmates in watching Mr. Graboski rise to his feet. A small group of secretaries and maintenance men came forward with small boxes, and began to distribute them to the teachers. As they did, Dr. MacDonald spoke again.

"These boxes contain lanyards with clear plastic envelopes attached to them. All students, teachers, and other Wharton employees are to put their current identification cards in the envelopes, and wear them at all times on campus. Students caught without them after 24 hours will be given after school or weekend detention, and 10 demerits for the first offense, 20 for each subsequent violation."

This got the students murmuring in earnest now, and Dr. MacDonald had to call, "Students!" in order to get them to simmer down. "The teachers will distribute them in class, and will give Mr. Magnuson a list of any student who was absent from class. These are now considered part of your uniform, gentlemen, and should be worn everywhere and anywhere you go on campus, including after hours. The only exceptions are when you dress out for phys. ed., or when you have some other uniform to wear, such as those of ROTC. Other exceptions will dealt with on a case-by-case basis." He paused for a moment. "These are part of our safety program, and should help identify people who are not part of the Wharton student body, faculty, or staff. So, please wear them with that in mind." He glanced at his watch. "Our class hour is nearly up. Teachers, you may take your students back to the classroom, distribute the lanyards, and dismiss when you are finished. Second hour teachers, please be lenient with any student arriving a few moments late." Motioning to the classes at the front, he said, "Please dismiss from the front rows to the back. You're dismissed."

The noise, which had been growing steadily as Dr. MacDonald's remarks concluded, rose sharply in volume as the students began to stir and the teachers began to lead their classes out. Mr. Graboski's class was in the center of the auditorium, so he sat while the other classes filed by. Jason passed by, caught Alan's eye, and gave him a brief wave, which Alan and a nudged Fermat returned.

"Fermat Hackenbacker?" The row of boys looked first at Mr. Culp, who stood at the end of their aisle, then at Fermat. "The officers would like to speak with you."

"M-Me? N-Now?" Fermat asked, pointing at himself.

"Yes, you. Now," Mr. Culp replied.

"What about m-my th-th-th... my supplies? They're b-back at the cl-classroom."

Mr. Culp looked at Mr. Graboski. "Could you assign someone to bring Mr. Hackenbacker's things to the security office after class dismisses? We'll take care of the permissions."

The math teacher glanced down at Alan. "Mr. Tracy, you are so deputized." He opened the box and handed a lanyard to Fermat as the student passed by him to join Mr. Culp in the aisle.

"Th-Thank you," Fermat managed to spit out before the security guard gathered him up and they walked off.

By this time, it was Alan's class's turn to leave. The students stood, murmuring amongst themselves.

"Who do you think got beat up, Alan?" the boy behind him asked.

"I dunno," Alan replied, "But I'd sure like to find out."

xxxx

"John to Tracy Island."

Virgil sat up straighter in the chair behind his father's desk. He had the first shift of night watch; Gordon would relieve him at three a.m. He pressed on the switch that brought John's face onto the computer screen before him.

"What's cooking, John?" he asked, putting aside his magazine. "You don't usually call this time in the morning."

"Just got a tidbit of information that Dad should know about right away. It might concern Alan."

Virgil squinted a bit at John's serious face. "What is it?"

"I'd rather tell Dad," John replied. "Can you wake him for me?"

"You sure? You know what he's like when we pull him out of bed for something that's not a rescue."

"I'm sure, and I'll take the heat," John said, making a face. "Just get him for me, please."

"Okay, it's your funeral," Virgil said, shrugging. He turned and activated the intercom in his father's room. "Dad? Hey, Dad! Wake up!"

A sleepy, bear-like voice responded. "Uh? Wha?"

"John's got some news that won't wait." Virgil glanced over at the screen where his brother could be seen, looking impatient.

" 'Zit a rescue?" Jeff was a difficult one to wake with anything less than the emergency signal... or his own strident alarm clock.

"No, it's not," Virgil explained. "Has to do with Alan..."

"Alan?" Suddenly Jeff sounded more coherent. "What about Alan?"

"I don't know; John has some news and he wants to tell you himself," Virgil said, rather testily.

"Okay, okay. 'M comin'."

It took a good ten minutes for Jeff to appear, hair mussed, wearing a threadbare bathrobe that Lucille had given him one Christmas. He never wore it when Lady Penelope was there, but then, he never appeared outside his bedroom without being decently dressed when she visited, either. He yawned, and rubbed his eyes, motioning Virgil out of his chair.

"Okay, John. What do you have?" he asked as he sat down.

"A small item from the eleven o'clock newscast out of Pittsfield. A student from Wharton Academy was admitted to the hospital in Pittsfield for injuries received from a beating that took place on campus. No name given, and police are investigating." John looked up at his father a bit sheepishly. "I realize that if you haven't heard by now, it's probably not Alan or Fermat, but... I thought it was important."

"Okay, John. I understand. But you're right; if it had been Alan or Fermat, Brains or I would have heard and we'd be contacting _you_ about it. Still, if I haven't heard from the school by five p.m. their time, I'll call them." Jeff sighed. "Anything else I should know, son?"

John shook his head. "No, not really. Things are pretty quiet at the moment."

"Good." Jeff got up and waved a hand at his space monitor son. "I'm going back to bed. Don't wake me unless it's an emergency... or you hear from Wharton."

"Good night, Dad," John said, sighing himself.

"Good night, John, Virgil." With that, Jeff shuffled from the room, yawning again.

John shook his head. "I should have left it for later."

"Nah, it's okay." Virgil settled back down in his father's chair. "If you hadn't, and it _did_ have something to do with Alan, you'd have wished you had. And Dad would have been pissed that you didn't." He shrugged. "You won't be keeping yourself awake over it now, either."

"You've got that right," John said. He took a deep breath in through his nose, let it out, then yawned. "I'm going to bed now. Goodnight, Virge."

Yawns being contagious, Virgil responded with one of his own. "G'night, John. Sleep well."

"You, too. John out."

The picture winked out and Virgil picked up his magazine again, trying to pick up his train of reasoning for the sudoku puzzle he had been working on.

xxxx

The rest of the day felt surreal, normal yet not normal. Alan delivered Fermat's things to the security office, hoping to hang around and perhaps give his two cents on what had happened to Qaeshon. But he wasn't called just then, and had to go on to his computer science class with a tardy pass. The meeting was the talk of campus, with a lot of speculation about who had gotten attacked this time. Alan was able to fill in what he remembered about Qaeshon's run-in with the mysterious marauders, and felt important that he could do so. Fermat resurfaced in the middle of history class, bearing a pass. He sat down heavily beside Alan.

"What happened?" Alan leaned over to whisper.

"Later," was Fermat's laconic answer.

Alan sighed and sat back up, trying to refocus his attention on their class discussion.

It wasn't until lunch time that Fermat and Alan got to talk. They sat with the rest of their little group, as usual. Qaeshon looked tired, and didn't say much. Dom joined them, drawn to their group by the shared experience. Ralph, following in Sugi's wake, glanced at their table; longingly, Alan thought, but kept walking.

He curbed his curiosity until Fermat at least had eaten his lunch; Qaeshon didn't look as if he wanted any, though he did drink his milk. Dom sat and stared at his food for a bit, then slowly began to eat. Jason, however, couldn't contain himself. "So?" he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. "What happened?"

Before Alan could figuratively sit on him, Fermat said, "They h-had us go over wh-what happened that night, m-more than once, a-a-asking questions and tr-trying to clarify what we s-saw o-or heard. I th-think they were l-l-l... seeking some identifying m-mark. A v-voice, a f-face, something like th-that."

"I wish I'd had someone like Fermat come to my rescue that night," Dom said with a sigh. "He's sharp. I was surprised how much he told them about Qaeshon's... incident."

"Did any of you hear who was beat up?" Alan asked.

Qaeshon shook his head. "No... but I'm almost sure I know who one of the guys who attacked me is. It... it just isn't coming to me." He slammed his fists down on his lap. "I wish I could figure it out!"

"Don't sweat it, bro." Xavion had appeared with his lunch tray, and he motioned for Alan to move over so he could sit next to his brother. Alan obeyed, and Zave gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze as he sat down. "It'll come. I'm just glad you didn't get hurt."

"Me, too," A.J. piped up. He paused, then said more slowly, "Though if you had, perhaps the police might have taken things more seriously to start with."

Everyone glared at him, and he looked down. "I'm sorry, but this has got me spooked. I'm afraid my dad will come and pull me out of school." He barked a laugh. "And for once... I don't want to leave."

Alan and Fermat exchanged glances, and Alan nodded. "I know how you feel, A.J. I'm afraid my dad will want to pull me out, and Fermat's dad will say the same thing. And you know, if this had happened earlier and Qaeshon had been the one hurt, then I'd have gone home without complaint. Hell, I'd have been happy to go! But now... now there's too much good stuff going on to leave." He sat up straighter. "Besides, I don't want to give in to these creeps, whoever they are."

"Wish I could say the same, Alan," Dom said dourly. "My mother will be on her way up here as soon as she hears about this, and she'll beg me to come home. Then my dad will step in and... I'll go." He made a face. "Like I said, they're overprotective because of my asthma." He looked at Alan. "You may end up with a room to yourself."

"Aw, Dom, c'mon! Don't be so gloomy!" Alan cajoled. "If your mother comes, we'll sweet talk her. I'll put on the old Tracy charm and get her to agree to let you stay."

"Will the 'old Tracy charm' work on my dad as well?" Dom asked, a small smile on his lips.

Alan stopped to think for a moment, but it was Fermat who jumped in. "H-Hey, if Alan's f-father agrees to l-let him stay, wouldn't that c-count for something?"

The group glanced around at each other, then at Alan. He groaned. "Brain, why did you have to bring up my _dad_?" he said, cuffing his friend playfully on the arm. "You know I don't like to flaunt my familial connections."

" 'Familial connections'?" Qaeshon remarked, smiling for the first time during the meal. "Where'd _you_ start picking up the highbrow vocab?"

"Hey, don't worry, _Pinky_," Jason said, his red brows rising. "We know how to put you in your place if you get too uppity."

Alan colored, and laughed. The rest of the group chuckled, and the tension was broken. "Hey, Zave?" he asked. "We still having practice today?"

"Yeah," Xavion said with a nod. "On schedule and don't be late."

Fermat paled a bit. "I g-guess that means w-we're still having our m-m-m... competition."

"I'd say so," Jason remarked, nodding. "Don't fret it, Brain. You'll wow them!"

"I s-s-s... certainly hope s-so." Fermat took a drink of milk and once he'd swallowed, added, "You think ou-our parents know y-yet?"

"I'd say it depends on the pecking order," Xavion said matter-of-factly. "Will they do it in alphabetical order? By financial importance? Seniors first?" He shrugged. "Who knows?"

"If it's in a-alphabetical order, my d-dad will hear before Alan's w-will," Fermat said.

"I wish they hadn't asked us not to call," A.J. said with a frown. "I'd probably be better tracking down my dad than they would."

The chatter turned to other matters for the few minutes they had left, then they prepared to go to their next classes. Xavion took his brother's tray for him, a gesture that was appreciated by the sophomore. Alan took Fermat's, and Dom's, too, figuring on getting a head start in being a supportive roommate. Pierce was working the lunch shift, but he said nothing to Alan after glancing at the bulk of the senior track captain standing behind his normal target. The two students disposed of their trays and trash, and went on to where the others waited by the exit. The friends said their farewells, and Alan found Zave pacing him toward the academic buildings.

"What's up, Zave?" he asked.

The senior hesitated, then slowed to a stop, pulling gently on Alan's arm to get him to do the same.

"I'm not supposed to tell this to anyone," Xavion said, looking around and speaking in a low tone. "But this sort of affects you, so I think you should know."

"What is it?" Alan moved closer, lowering his own voice, responding to the seriousness of the older teen.

"I know who got beat up last night."

"You do?" Alan lowered his voice even more, and glanced around. Zave suddenly decided to start walking again, and Alan walked beside him. "Who is it? And what does this have to do with me?"

"It has to do with you because this guy is on the track team and there's no way he's going to be able to compete for a good while."

Alan felt his gut clench, and suddenly he was sure he knew who his team captain was talking about. Still, he didn't want to make any assumptions, and asked, "Who?"

Zave looked at him with a frank gaze, then swallowed and moistened his lips. "Erik. Erik Tolbert."

_

* * *

Why was Erik beaten? Will they discover who did it? How will Fermat and the quiz team do? Will Dom get to stay? Will A.J. talk with his father? What will Brains and Jeff's reactions be? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	30. Unlooked for

_Author's note: _The school day winds down. Jeff hears from Wharton. An unexpected visitor arrives. A duty is remembered. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan walked the rest of the way to class in a daze. _Erik? Why Erik? The other guys weren't athletes... the goons taunted them about **not** being athletes. So why Erik? It just doesn't make sense!_

His shock made it nearly impossible to concentrate, which was bad since he had a surprise quiz in Spanish. Fermat had glanced at him sharply and frowned, but the younger boy had his own roiling emotions to deal with. _Wish my stomach would settle down. This is no time to get sick! It's just a game; it's just a game. I've got to keep telling myself, it's just a game._ He winced at his own thoughts. _Yeah, right. Like I really believe that._

When Spanish was over, the two boys parted ways. Alan gave his friend a distracted, "See ya" as he prepared to walk off.

Stung, Fermat asked, "Aren't you g-going to w-w-wish me l-luck?"

The question seemed to rouse Alan from his torpor, and he turned back to his friend, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Fermat. I haven't exactly been thinking on all cylinders this afternoon. You shouldn't have had to ask. But, yeah... the _best_ of luck, pal, to you _and_ the team. Get out there and whip their butts!" He held out his fist, and Fermat tapped it, then Alan returned the tap. "You'll do great; I just know it! I wish I could be there to see your first victory."

Mollified, Fermat smiled. "Th-Thanks, Alan. I'll do m-my best."

"Your best is awesome, dude. You'll totally rock!" Alan shook a finger at him. "I want to hear all the details as soon as possible. Call on the way home if you can."

"Good i-idea," Fermat replied, nodding. He glanced at his watch. "We'd b-b-better g-get..."

"Going." Alan interrupted. "Right. Talk to you later!"

"Bye!"

They parted, Alan's attention finally diverted from Erik's plight, and Fermat's inner butterflies quelled... for the moment.

xxxx

"Have you heard from Wharton this morning, Brains?" Jeff asked as he and his engineer settled down to discuss the day's projects.

"Y-Yes," Brains replied, adjusting his glasses. "They c-called before b-breakfast and t-told me about an, uh, i-incident at the school." He gave Jeff a puzzled look. "H-Have y-you heard from th-them?"

Jeff shook his head. "No, not yet. But I know about what happened. I found out courtesy of John, who picked up a news item from the local televid station. If I don't hear from them soon, I'll be putting in a call of my own."

Brains nodded. "I h-haven't d-d-d... thought about wh-what my reaction should b-be."

"Me, either," Jeff admitted. "I think a lot of that will depend on Alan, and what he thinks." He looked at his watch. "I'm waiting until after dinnertime there to call him."

"The, uh, w-woman who c-called me said that F-Fermat would still be g-going on his quiz m-m-m... competition. I'll w-wait until he g-gets back from th-that to call." Brains smiled. "I expect I'll h-hear good things about th-the m-meet."

Jeff smiled. "I'm sure you will, Brains. Now, let's get down to business."

They began their discussion, going over what projects had highest priority and where Brains was in regards to those on his list. Suddenly, Jeff's satellite phone rang. He picked it up from the desk, glanced at the caller ID, and glanced over at Brains. "It's Wharton," he said. Brains nodded, and Jeff put his earphone-microphone combination in his ear so he could see who was calling. "Jeff Tracy here."

"Mr. Tracy, this is Mrs. Belvedere calling on behalf of Wharton Academy." The face of the student affairs director appeared on his phone screen. She looked a bit tired, but seemed to be sitting as ramrod straight as ever. "My apologies for disturbing you, but there is a situation here you should be aware of."

"I'm already aware of the attack that took place on campus last night," Jeff replied, unsmiling. "One of my sons found a brief news story on it, and apprised me of the incident. Professor Hackenbacker has also mentioned it to me. Do you have any more details? I expect that if Alan were involved, I would have been notified much earlier."

Mrs. Belvedere looked a bit discomfited by the fact that Jeff already knew about the problem. "I am sorry that you discovered the incident from the news. We wanted to speak to the students before calling parents. You are correct in assuming that Alan is not involved. But I can only share with you the details you probably already have in your possession. A student was assaulted on campus last evening and is currently hospitalized. The police, working in tandem with our security personnel, are investigating the matter, and we have put some new security measures into effect to help preserve our students' safety. An explanatory email listing those measures will follow. We hope you will consider leaving Alan in our care, as we are doing everything we can to keep him and his classmates safe."

"I've been thinking long and hard about this, Mrs. Belvedere," Jeff admitted. "But I haven't come to a decision yet. I will inform you when I do. Truthfully, a lot will depend on Alan's assessment of the situation."

"I understand. Professor Hackenbacker said much the same thing about his son," Mrs. Belvedere said with a nod. She paused, looking as if she were trying to decide something, then she smiled slightly. "I should tell you, Mr. Tracy, that Alan has quite impressed me over the past two weeks. I have had two conversations with him, first about the situation in his dorm room and the fact that he was separated from his friend, then the incident with Mr. Mackenzie. He has acted in a very mature way throughout, thinking of others before himself, and showing great loyalty as well. Whatever has happened since last spring has been very beneficial."

"Yes, he did a lot of growing up over the summer. I'm very proud of him... I always have been." Jeff smiled, a look of pride on his face.

"You have reason to be," Mrs. Belvedere told him. She paused again, and the business-like demeanor returned. "Do you have any questions for me at this time?"

"Have the police been able to connect this to the earlier incident... the one Fermat Hackenbacker was involved in?" Jeff asked.

"I am not certain, Mr. Tracy, but they are exploring every avenue. However, they do not believe the incident has anything to do with the assault on Alan earlier in the week."

"I see. Well, thank you for calling, Mrs. Belvedere. May I call again if I have any other questions?"

"Of course, but please wait until tomorrow to call. Most of the office lines will be tied up for the rest of the day while we notify other parents."

"Point taken. Again, thank you for calling. I will be discussing the matter with Alan and will decide on our response after that."

Mrs. Belvedere nodded. "You're welcome, Mr. Tracy. Good day."

"Goodbye." Jeff disconnected the call, and his earpiece. He glanced over at Brains.

"H-How did it g-go?" the engineer asked.

"Pretty well. She told me she's impressed by Alan at the moment," Jeff said, folding up his phone and putting it aside. "Said he was acting in a very mature manner about the separation." He looked at Brains thoughtfully. "What do you think the boys' reaction will be? Do you think they'll want to stay, or come home?"

Brains shook his head slowly. "I'm n-not sure. At the m-moment, I think th-they'd want to st-st-st... remain."

"I think so, too." Jeff readjusted himself in his chair. "Well, we'll know soon enough. Let's get back to work."

xxxx

Fermat watched the clock in his last class, Chemistry. He had given his teacher, Ms. Hager, a pass from Mr. Feng, one that would let him out halfway through the class hour. He was nervous; he'd never had to leave class like this before. Finally, a few moments before his departure time, he packed up his things, then waited. He tried to catch Ms. Hager's eye, to get a nod of permission, but wasn't able to. At last, he stood, swallowing, still waiting for her to notice him. The other students noticed, though, and their curious stares in his direction prompted his teacher to look at him and nod.

"You may go, Mr. Hackenbacker," she said.

Fermat let out a held breath, and fled the room. He hurried down the stairs, where he had arranged to meet Devdan.

"Good afternoon, Fermat," Dev said, a small smile on his face. "We must move quickly, or we will be late, and Mr. Feng does not appreciate tardiness." He held his hand out for Fermat's book bag and added its weight to that of his backpack, then they left the building. Dev's long legs set a fast, ground eating pace, one that Fermat huffed and puffed to catch up with. _I think I should join Alan in his morning run,_ he thought ruefully. _I'm already losing what little tone I gained over the summer._

The two of them sped through the passage in the Student Center. On the other side, one of Wharton's vans was already waiting. Mr. Feng was packing up what little equipment they would need.

"We are on our way to put our class paraphernalia away and to fetch our uniforms," Devdan explained as they slowed. "We will return momentarily."

Mr. Feng nodded. "Make it quick."

"We shall." Devdan smiled, then picked up the pace once again. Fermat soldiered on in his wake.

Once at the dorm, Dev opted for the stairs to the third floor, but Fermat took the elevator, hoping to catch his breath. He shook his head slowly when he saw Dev already standing in front of his door, the book bag in hand.

"I will deposit this here and go on to my own room." The team captain put the bag down, then looked Fermat up and down critically. "You may want a change of shirt."

"Huh?" Fermat asked, but Dev was gone, striding quickly down the hallway to his room and disappearing inside. The younger boy blew out a tired breath, and opened his door. He picked up his book bag and took it and his computer case inside, then returned to pull in the laundry boxes that sat in the hall. Having done that, he quickly found his blazer, a navy blue one with Wharton's crest on the pocket. He had looped the tie twice around the handle of the hangar, under the thin, clear plastic dry cleaner's sheath. Looking at them, he decided to don them both en route. Just before closing his closet door, he saw himself in the mirror and suddenly understood what Dev had meant about a change of shirt. The underarms of the one he was wearing were dark with sweat. He sighed, and pulled off his vest, then fished a fresh garment from his closet.

There was a knock at the door as he stripped off the soaked shirt, carefully maneuvering it over his cast. "C-Coming!" he called as he struggled to put on the clean one, muttering curses under his breath over how being hurried made him move slower and not faster. He had the shirt half buttoned when he opened the door and came face to face with... A.J.'s father.

"Ah, oh, er," Fermat stammered.

The man smiled. "Hello there... Fermat. Do I have that right?"

"Y-Yes, sir," Fermat replied, his hands frozen.

Mr. Trumbull motioned with his head toward the half-buttoned shirt. "I see I caught you at a bad time. I was wondering: do you know where Andrew is at the moment?"

"He is still in class," came a voice from behind Mr. Trumbull. Dev had arrived, his own jacket in hand, and Fermat mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Dev reached out a hand. "I am Devdan Israni, hall monitor."

"Arthur Trumbull. I'm Andrew's father," the older man said as he shook Dev's hand.

"Ah, very good." Dev nodded. "Classes will be over in twenty minutes. Perhaps you could wait for him in the downstairs lobby."

Mr. Trumbull's eyes flicked back and forth between the older and the younger boy. "I was hoping to wait for him in his room, if that is all right with Mr. ... Hackensack..."

"H-Hackenbacker," Fermat corrected. He finished buttoning his shirt, and ducked back inside to tuck it in.

"I am afraid that is not permissible, sir. Have you heard about the incident that occurred last night?"

"Yes," Mr. Trumbull answered slowly. "I have. That's why I'm here."

Fermat cam back to the door, a frown of consternation on his face. But Dev nodded. "Then you will understand why we hall monitors have been told to be especially vigilant," he said smoothly. "Have you perhaps checked in at the administration building? That is the standard procedure for parents who visit."

Mr. Trumbull looked a bit belligerent, but Dev's cool reiteration of the rules took the wind out of his sails. "I... was not aware of the protocol. I will go to the administration building now and check in." He glanced back and forth between the teens again, and straightened his shoulders. "Thank you for informing me. I'm sure I will see you again soon."

"You are most welcome," Dev replied graciously. "Now, Mr. Hackenbacker and I have an appointment to keep. Perhaps you would ride down in the elevator with us?" He turned to Fermat. "Are you ready, my friend?"

"Y-Yes," Fermat said. He grasped his jacket, still on its hanger, in his left hand, then put his right one up to the scanner, locking the door. Then he moved the hanger to his good hand, and slung it over his shoulder.

"You have the finances required for a meal?" Dev asked.

"Yeah, I d-do." Fermat remembered clearly putting his wallet in his trouser pocket, and his phone in his shirt pocket.

"Then let us go. Mr. Feng can be most impatient." Devdan led the way to the elevator, where Mr. Trumbull waited for the two boys.

"So," the older man said in a jocular tone. "Where are you boys going that lets you out of class early?"

"Qu-Quiz team m-meet," Fermat explained. "An away g-game."

"Academic quizzing?" Mr. Trumbull looked with interest from one boy to the other. "Interesting. I had a roommate in college who did that. Went to one of his meets. Fascinating to see how brainy he and his teammates were."

By this time, the elevator door opened, and the trio stepped out. Devdan hurried Fermat through the lobby; Mr. Trumbull kept pace. Once they had descended the concrete steps to the walkway, Dev and Fermat paused.

"H-Have a n-nice a-a-a... evening, sir," Fermat said politely. "It was n-nice to m-meet you."

"Thank you, Fermat. It was nice to meet you, too... both of you," Andrew's father replied.

"Yes, Mr. Trumbull. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please excuse us, but we must hurry." Dev took Fermat by the upper arm – above his cast - and hurried him off. Once they were past Oakwood, the pair broke into a run, their jackets flapping behind them on the hangers. They arrived at the van to see that the rest of the team had assembled, and Mr. Feng was looking pointedly at his watch.

"My apologies, Mr. Feng," Devdan said. "We had an unexpected delay involving my duties as hall monitor."

"Ah," Mr. Feng said as Fermat climbed into the van. "I see. Well, we'd better get moving if we want to be there on time."

Fermat found himself in the rear-most seat, with Atif and Tomas. They helped him hang his blazer on a horizontal bar that had been set up in the cargo area, and they did the same for Dev's coat as it was passed back to them. Dev climbed into the front passenger seat, and Mr. Feng took up the driver's side.

"Everyone has used the bathroom, I hope?" Mr. Feng called back.

There was a chuckle from some of the veterans; they were familiar with this question of his. The new recruits looked puzzled for the most part, as Mr. Feng started up the engine, and pulled away from the curb.

A thrill passed through Fermat as he realized that he was leaving campus, not with his father or Mr. Tracy, but on his own, with his teammates. Suddenly, his nervousness had faded somewhat, replaced by a sense of adventure and excitement.

xxxx

After practice, Alan helped Xavion pick up some of the equipment. His shoulder wasn't as achy this evening; he had taken special care to warm up for his javelin practice. But though his body wasn't as sore, he was sore in a different way. Steve had been by turns rude, condescending, sarcastic, and nit-picking. Alan could do nothing right; he had his hand too far back or too far forward. He held the spear too high or too low; he released it too soon or too late.

Alan managed to keep from exploding at the guy, but he was _that_ close to first telling Steve off, then asking the coach to drop him from the javelin._ I'm sure I wouldn't lose my place on the team; not with Erik in the hospital and all. But maybe I need to learn something from this; Coach probably knows about Steve's attitude and wouldn't have him training me if he thought I couldn't hack it. If nothing else, I'm learning more self-control! I'll bring it up to Zave, though, and see what he suggests._

"So, Pinky," Zave said as he handed Alan a stack of plastic orange cones. "You coming downtown with me tomorrow?"

Alan groaned. "Damn! I knew I was forgetting something! I haven't asked my dad to change my permissions!" He shifted his load of markers, and looked at his watch. "The office is closed now, isn't it?" Sighing, he shook his head, then brightened a bit. "I'll call him and ask him to email the permission anyway. Maybe someone's still there trying to get hold of parents or something."

The two boys reached the truck that carried sports equipment back and forth from storage to field. Xavion took the cones from Alan and said, "I've got the rest of this. You'd better hurry up and make your call. See you at dinner."

Alan swallowed his first, knee-jerk response of "F-A-B", and said, "Sure, see you then," instead. Then he took off at a run for his dorm. _Man, am I glad that the soccer team's first game is today... and is away!_ He grinned a little. _Wonder how Fermat's first meet is going?_

Just then, some eighty-plus miles – as the crow flies – away, and after nearly two hours of driving time, Fermat Hackenbacker was settling down into a chair on a strange stage, in an unfamiliar auditorium, at a school he didn't know existed until just that week.

_

* * *

How did Mr. Trumbull get to Wharton so fast and what does he want? Will Alan get to go shopping? What will Erik say? How will Fermat and the team do? Will he and Alan choose to stay at Wharton? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	31. Unsurprising Results

_Author's note: _Alan calls home, and Fermat's team eats dinner. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. The question answered by Fermat is real, and I found it at the following site: http/mathworld. Wolfram. Com/ PizzaTheorem. html (take out the extra spaces)

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Brains had just left for his lab when Jeff's phone rang again. He smiled; the caller ID told him that his son was calling in. He answered, swiveling around in his chair to face the screen of his desk phone. 

"Hey, Alan!"

"Hey, Dad!" Alan's picture was bobbing up and down again, and Jeff gave silent thanks that he didn't get motion sick. "Got a question to ask."

"Shoot," Jeff replied.

"Can you let me go shopping with my friend Qaeshon and his brother tomorrow?" Alan stopped packing up his books to face his father directly. "Qaeshon's brother's name is Xavion; he's captain of the track team, a senior, and he's got a car of his own."

"Why do you need to go shopping?" Jeff asked. _I didn't want him running off campus for soda pop so I set up that account with the grocery..._

"I need new shoes for track," Alan explained. "My current athletic shoes are waterlogged from our morning runs and the rain we had the other day. I really need some new ones, especially cleats for the jumps."

"Ah, I see," Jeff said, nodding. He picked up a data pad. "Does this friend of yours have a clean driving record?"

Alan shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose so. I don't think his father would let him have a car if he didn't."

"What was his name again?"

"Xavion Lewis. X-A-V-I-O-N L-E-W-I-S."

"Okay," Jeff noted the name and the spelling. "Do you need me to email a permission?"

"Yeah, Dad, I do." Alan went back to packing. "I know it's after business hours here, but I think that there may still be people in the office. They're supposed to be calling the parents about... well, about something that happened last night."

"I know about it, Alan. I heard about it first from John, who caught it on the news, and then from the school." Jeff leaned back and tapped his stylus on his chin. "In fact, I wanted to talk to you about it."

Alan stopped again, and sat down at his desk. "Okay. I'm listening."

"I'm not sure how to approach this, son," Jeff began. "As your father, my knee-jerk reaction is to fly out there and pull you from the school – set up that home schooling you kept going on about. But somehow, this year has been different. You've got track, and your friends, and I don't want to just yank you from Wharton if you don't want to be yanked." He paused for a moment. "You've impressed a few people, myself included, and I feel you can assess the situation better than I can just because you're there. In other words, I want your opinion on whether or not you want to stay."

Alan colored a little at his father's praise. He paused to gather his thoughts for a moment, then nodded. "I do want to stay, Dad. Like you said, I've got things to look forward to this year. Cool things that I've never had before. And I can handle myself, Dad. This summer taught me a lot." He sighed. "I'll admit that what's going on here with these three attacks..."

"_Three_ attacks?" Jeff interrupted suddenly, frowning. "I thought there were only two."

"No, Dad," Alan said, shaking his head. He glanced around, and dropped his vocal level. "You know about the first one; my friend Qaeshon was roughed up. Fermat broke it up and we used our watches. The second one happened to my new roommate, Dom. He wasn't hurt, but it triggered an asthma attack and he went to the hospital for that." Alan stopped to think again, then added, "He thinks his parents will be up here to take him out of school, too. I kinda hope not; I was looking forward to getting to know him. He's not in my circle of friends and I think I need to meet new people. Though I wouldn't mind having a room to myself either."

"So this latest is the third attack?"

"Yeah." Alan unconsciously mimicked his father's pose, tapping a pen on his desk instead of his chin. "And it doesn't make any sense, either. Qaeshon and Dom were told by the goons that they should go out for sports and not do the things they do, y'know... playing music or working on the yearbook. But Erik..."

"Erik?"

Alan suddenly shifted position, uncomfortable that he'd told his father something that had been told to him in confidence. "Yeah. That's who got beat up this time, Dad, but don't tell anyone I said so. I shouldn't have opened my mouth to you, either." He blew out a frustrated breath. "In any case, the kid that got beat up – Erik - is on the track team. He runs cross country with me. I was just getting to know him when this happened."

"Do the authorities have any idea why this happened?" Jeff asked, still frowning.

"None that I've heard," Alan replied, shaking his head. His eyebrows went up as a thought occurred to him. "I could ask, though. Zave, Kay and I could visit Erik tomorrow if he's still in the hospital."

"Are Zave and Kay nicknames for your friends Xavion and Qaeshon?" Jeff asked, his face taking on a bemused look. He put down the data pad, picked up his PDA, and began using his stylus on the tiny screen.

"Oh, uh, yeah. They are. Sorry, Dad, I should have explained that." Alan sounded sheepish. He paused then reiterated his question. "So, can I go?"

"I'm sending the permission as we speak, Alan," Jeff told him. "But it's just for tomorrow. I'll think about making it a more permanent arrangement once I've had Penelope do some digging into Xavion's family... and his driving record."

"All right!" Alan shouted, grinning. "Thanks, Dad!"

"You're welcome, son. Are you still on for moving tomorrow?"

Alan nodded. "If I can stay..."

"I think for now we'll leave things as they are," Jeff said. He shook a finger in his son's direction. "But I'm going to keep an eye on the situation. If there are any more attacks, I may reconsider and pull you out." He sat back, putting his PDA down on the desk. "I expect you to stay out of trouble, and do what you can to help Fermat keep out of it, too."

The teen's face brightened. "Does that mean Fermat's going to stay, too?"

Jeff shook his head. "Truthfully, I don't know, Alan. Brains wants to talk with Fermat first, just as I have with you, and then he'll decide. If he thinks it would be better for Fermat to come home, then we'll make arrangements that way - even if it means you stay at Wharton and he leaves." He folded his hands loosely in his lap. "Would that make you change your mind about staying?"

Alan shrugged. "I dunno, maybe. Things wouldn't be the same around here without Fermat, that's for sure. And if you want my opinion, I think Fermat would want to stay. But that's just my opinion."

"I guess we'll have to wait and see what Brains and Fermat decide on," Jeff said. He looked at his watch. "Don't you have to get to dinner soon?"

"Yeah, I do. I can come back and pack up my stuff later." Alan glanced around the room. "Can't say I'll miss this place. The tension's been thick enough to cut with a knife."

"I already know what room you'll be in. Mrs. Belvedere's office sent me an email about it and asked for my approval."

"They did? I didn't know that there had to be parental approval, too." Alan's confusion was plain.

Jeff chuckled. "Yes, Alan. Even little things like dorm room changes have to have parental approval at Wharton. Normally, I wouldn't have allowed it; I didn't allow Gordon to room with his friends when he was there. And I_ was _rather looking forward to chewing out a few board members at the meeting next month and have you living with Fermat again. In fact, I may still show up and express my displeasure with the way they've handled this whole campus security issue. But with the trouble you've been having... well, I didn't think you needed the extra pressure or distraction. Add to that your thoughts on Fermat and his roommate, and I really couldn't do anything else."

"Huh." Alan stopped to think about that for a moment. "Why didn't you let Gordon room with his friends?"

His father took the stylus in the fingers of both hands and twirled it, studiously watching as he did so. "That's something you should ask Gordon about."

Alan was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. "Gordon, huh? Okay, Dad. I'll email and ask him. Or better yet, I'll call later. But don't tell him I'm going to. I want to see his expression." He glanced at his computer clock. "I'd better go. I can hardly wait until Fermat calls; today was his first quizzing meet."

Jeff smiled. "I hope he does well."

"He will, Dad," Alan said confidently. "Well, I'm off to dinner. Talk you later, Dad."

"Later, Alan," Jeff replied. He paused, then added, "Love you, son."

"Love you, too," Alan responded. "Bye!"

"Bye."

Alan closed the connection and sighed lightly, a contented sound. Then he sprang from his chair, quickly grabbed his jacket, and headed out to the dining hall. At the last minute, he grabbed his phone, and stuck it in his pocket. _Just in case Fermat calls._

xxxx

"A-Another piece of pepperoni p-pizza, please," Fermat called, holding out his plate. Tom grinned, and served up another slice.

"I still can't believe you answered that question about the pizza theorem, Fermat," Timothy said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, you're to blame for us coming here to eat, Hackenbacker," Will added with a laugh. "After that question, this was all we could think about!"

The group laughed, and continued talking about the match, until Devdan cleared his throat noisily.

"Does everyone have their cups full?" he asked, glancing around. When he saw that all the cups were full, or at least half full, he stood with his glass of water in his hand. "I propose a toast, gentlemen. To Wharton Academy's academic quizzing team and our victorious first match!"

Calls of "Hear, hear!" and "To us!" sounded out among a general laughter and the clapping together of the plastic cups. Even Robbie, looking a little peaked, joined in. He had ended up sitting out this first match due to a case of unexpected nausea brought on by motion sickness.

"Don't worry, Robert," Mr. Feng had said at the time. "You'll get a chance at our next meet. It's a home game."

Now the talk around the table turned from mutual admiration and dissection of the meet itself to the big question of the day: the attacks at Wharton. Fermat was particularly singled out for questions as he had been involved, however slightly, in the first one.

"I'd heard that you broke your arm defending your friend," Wei Noh said.

Fermat shook his head. "N-No, nothing so h-h-h... valorous, I'm a-afraid. I broke my a-arm falling out of b-bed."

"But you did put the miscreants to flight, didn't you?" Atif asked.

"I s-suppose I was a f-factor," Fermat replied, shrugging. "Though I was u-under the impression that they were f-f-f... done with Qaeshon by th-that point."

"I wonder who was beat up," Robbie said, taking a sip of his cola.

"I wish they would tell us," Will said. "Who knows? It might be of some use."

"You haven't been told because the victim is a minor, like yourselves, and the police have procedures dealing with minors and parental notification," Mr. Feng explained. "The only reason you know about young Mr. Lewis is that our Mr. Hackenbacker was involved. Otherwise, you would not have that information either."

"Do any of you think your families will come and pull you out of school?" Mikal asked, looking around.

That question quieted them all down and they looked at one another, trying to imagine a team without one of the boys sitting around them. _We haven't been a team for long,_ Fermat thought, _But even so, we **are** a team. I can't imagine having a meet and missing one or more of our members._

"I do not think my parents would remove me," Devdan said calmly. "I am a senior, in the final year of my schooling. It would be counter-productive for them to require me to come home."

"I'm the same way," Will said. "My folks have put a lot of hard-earned money into my education here; they'll want to see me graduate."

"I expect my mother to fly over at the earliest opportunity," Atif said. He sighed a little. "She is very impressed with Wharton, of course, but it is still early in the year. I am sure she would move me to another school."

One by one, the boys talked about their families' possible or probable reactions. Finally, it came down to Fermat.

"You're the youngest of us, Fermat," Joseph said. "What do you think your parents will do?"

"It's j-just me and my d-dad," Fermat explained. "But knowing h-him, I th-think we'll t-talk about it before h-he makes a decision. It may a-also hinge on what m-my father's e-employer does about his s-son." He glanced around at the others. "I kn-know I want to s-stay."

"Well, then," Mr. Feng said, taking a last gulp of his drink. "We should get you all home so you can talk to your parents for yourselves. Let's go, gentlemen."

The group finished their last bites of food, and emptied their glasses, while a couple of the boys used the toilet. They settled themselves into the same seats they had before, except for Robbie, who changed places with Devdan for the ride home.

"Sittin' up front is easier on mah stomach," he had explained. Dev understood.

Their stomachs filled and their taste for conversation sated, several of the team members fell asleep as they trekked home. But Fermat pulled out his satellite phone. He had a couple of important calls to make.

* * *

_What will Brains have to say about Fermat and Wharton? Will Alan be able to visit Erik? Who will be leaving, and who will stay? And will the mystery assailants strike again? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	32. Uncertainties

_Author's note: _Fermat finally gets to talk to his father, while Alan asks a favor of Dom, and A.J. blows his curfew. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Brains's satellite phone rang at his workbench, but the engineer was trying to direct Gordon and Virgil in assembling the pieces that comprised the Firefly's new turret operator's shield. So engrossed was he in the details that it took Gordon to nudge him and say, "Phone," before he realized that it was ringing. 

"Oh, ah, er," he stammered. "B-Be right b-back." He climbed down from the fire equipment, and hurried over to his worktable. By the time he reached it, the phone had stopped playing the bit of "Pomp and Circumstance" that signaled Fermat was calling, so Brains opened the device and speed-dialed his son.

In the warm, stuffy van, Fermat jumped a little as his phone sounded off, the tune "Powerhouse" ringing a little too loudly in the close confines. A couple of his drowsing teammates stirred; Atif gave him a dirty look, and Fermat shrugged apologetically. He answered the call, selecting "voice only".

"H-Hi, Dad," he said quietly.

"H-Hey, son!" Brains replied, smiling widely. "H-How did the m-meet go?"

"We w-w-w... were victorious." Fermat's excited pride was evident in his tone.

"T-T-T... That's great, son!" Brains's smile became a grin. "H-How did _you_ d-do?"

"I did f-fine, Dad. Didn't miss a qu-question."

"Wow! I'm i-impressed! I'm sure the c-competition was p-pretty fierce."

"It was! Th-The other team had a f-fabulous g-guy for h-history. B-But our t-team still kicked b-butt."

"That's wonderful, F-Fermat!" Brains glanced back to see how Virgil and Gordon were doing, and frowned. "Listen, s-son. I want to t-talk to you about Wh-Wharton and what we're going to d-do in light of r-recent events, b-but I'm in the middle of a pr-project and..."

"And you c-can't talk now." Fermat finished his father's sentence. "I understand, Dad. Besides, I'm in the school b-b-b... van, and it's not e-exactly private. C-Call me later?"

"I w-will, son," Brains promised. "Right now I'd b-better go. Love you, Fermat."

Unaccountably, Fermat blushed. He glanced around at the other boys, then replied, "S-Same here, Dad. T-Talk to you soon."

"Soon, son." Brains was beginning to sound more and more distracted. "Bye f-for now."

"B-Bye, Dad."

The call ended, and Brains hurried back to his work. "B-Be careful, Virgil! That's too sharp an a-angle!"

Fermat sighed as he closed up his phone and put it back in his pocket. He thought briefly about calling Alan, but he wanted to get back to campus and tell his story to his friend in person. So he settled back and looked out the window, watching the trees flash by, the occasional stand of birches, gray-white in the dark, keeping his mind alert enough to stay awake.

xxxx

Alan walked back toward the dorms with Qaeshon and Xavion. "We're on for tomorrow, right?" he asked. "When do you want to meet, and where?"

Xavion thought for a moment, then said, "Kay and I will come by and pick you up around eleven. The stores will all be open by then and we can eat lunch off campus."

"It'll be my treat," Alan insisted. "As a thank you for providing the ride."

Zave put his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I won't argue. I never pass up free food."

The three of them laughed, then Qaeshon said, "Wonder where A.J. was tonight. I hope he didn't think he needed the Brain with him to eat with us. He's part of the gang now."

Alan frowned a bit. "Yeah. You'd think he'd have sat with us. I mean, we haven't done or said anything to offend him, have we?"

The trio was quiet for a few minutes, then Kay said, "I can't think of anything." He shrugged. "Maybe we'll see him in the morning for breakfast."

"If we get up for it," Alan said with a snort. "Though I'm going to be up and hauling what I can over to Dom's room before 11." He paused, then added, "You should plan on picking me up there, at Dom's room." A thought struck him. "Hey! This means we'll all be in the same dorm! How cool is that?"

Zave groaned, shaking his head. "Man, I should have thought of that before... maybe I could have convinced Bertoli to say 'no'."

Qaeshon and Alan both laughed. "Not a problem, Zave," Kay said with a grin, hooking a thumb at his own shoulder. "Between us, we can keep Pinky in line."

Alan raised an eyebrow, giving Kay a challenging look. "You sure about that?"

"Oh yeah, Pinky," Zave said, nodding his head. "We're sure." He held his hand out to his brother, and they shook, their hands sliding down after the shake, until they had reached the fingertips, and snapped their fingers by using the other's hand.

Alan looked on and asked, "Where did you learn that again?"

"Cousins from West Africa," Xavion said. "We'll see them again next summer."

By this time, they'd reached the front of Chetwood, and Alan looked over at the window where his room was. A light was on, and he sighed. Zave noticed and motioned with his head. "You want us to come with you?"

Alan shook his head. "Nah. Gotta face him sometime."

"But you don't have to face him _alone_," Zave said.

Kay shook his head. "Or _at all_, Pinky, not if you really don't want to. In fact, you can crash in one of our rooms tonight." He glanced over at the window himself. "Or ask Dom if you could come a bit early - maybe move your stuff over, even if you don't sleep there..." He shrugged. "We'd be happy to give you a hand."

Alan thought about it for a moment. It was tempting; he'd much rather keep his contact with Lee to the bare minimum. "Okay," he said. "Let's go ask Dom if I can start moving tonight, instead of tomorrow."

"C'mon," Zave said. He waved the younger boys to follow, setting a quick pace with his long legs. Alan grinned and caught up, then pulled ahead, turning the walk into a jog, then a run, making the short distance between dorms into an impromptu race. Zave smiled, and did the same, pounding up the walkway, weaving between the few students that populated the sidewalks. He reached the granite steps first, taking them two at at time, continuing up to the front doors, and slamming through to the lobby, Alan on his heels.

"Gotcha there, Pinky!" Zave crowed, panting just a bit at the unexpected exertion.

Alan grinned. "Wait until the rematch," he promised. They both turned as Qaeshon entered, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"Next time you two decide to have a friendly little race, let me know, huh?" he said. "I'd like to at least try to keep up."

Zave clapped his hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "You couldn't catch us in a month of Sundays."

"Who said anything about 'catching'?" Kay snorted. "I said, keep up. Can't do that if you jackrabbits get a head start."

While the sibling wrangling was going on, Alan edged toward the hallway, waiting for his friends to stop their good-natured arguing. Finally, his impatience overcame his politeness and he called, "Guys? Sometime tonight, please?"

The brothers both turned to him, and Xavion lightly smacked his brother on the upper arm with the back of his hand, then motioned in Alan's direction with his head. "Pinky's been patient," he said. "Let's go give him a hand."

"Which one does he want?" Qaeshon quipped as they headed down the hall toward Dom's room.

"Both," Alan riposted.

"Oh no!" Kay put a hand dramatically to his forehead. "I'll never be able to play the violin again!"

"It was always debatable whether or not you could play it at all," Zave responded with a wry, teasing tone.

"Hey! Don't you diss my instrument!" Kay replied, slamming his body into his brother's.

Xavion pushed back, and Qaeshon caromed into Alan. "Guys!" Alan complained. "Can we cut the comedy for just a few?"

"What?" Qaeshon asked. "You nervous or something?"

"Well, yeah," Alan admitted. "I don't want to sound like I'm begging or anything."

"Dom is cool," Kay said. "Just ask. Worst he can do is say, 'Wait until tomorrow'."

The trio pulled up in front of Dom's door, and Alan pressed the buzzer. There was a thud inside, then a jumbled banging sound, then the door opened, and Dom stood there, looking surprised. "Alan!" he said. "What's up?"

"Uh, can we come in?" Alan asked. "I need to ask you a question."

"Oh, sure." Dom moved out of the way, and the three young men entered the room. Alan looked around. The walls held a few posters, mostly of old movies, with a couple of sports figures mixed in. But what really surprised Alan were the boxes, half full of what seemed to be Dom's belongings, sitting on the floor.

He motioned to the containers. "What's this all about?" he asked.

Dom made a face. "My parents will be here tomorrow. My mother has told me to be ready to go when they get here."

xxxx

The school van pulled up outside the student center. The drowsy quiz team members had been stirring ever since they had passed through the front gates, and now the sounds of groans and yawns filled the close confines. Mr. Feng pulled a small data pad out of the glove compartment, and used a stylus to add their arrival time and the mileage to the file, then initialed it and saved the information. Then he turned and grinned at his team members.

"Gentlemen, you did fine work this evening. I'm very proud of you. Now, collect your uniforms and make sure you have someone to walk back to your dorm with. You should have about fifteen minutes before our earlier curfew but some time to relax in your dorms until lights out." He paused, then added, "And have a good weekend. I'll see you all at practice Tuesday afternoon."

There was a general chorus of "Goodnight", "Have a good weekend", "Talk to you later" and "Goodbye" from the boys as they began to climb out. Mr. Feng opened the back of the van, and started handing out the jackets and ties that had been hung up there.

"Fermat." Devdan put a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "I will be helping Mr. Feng to put away our equipment. You should find someone else to walk you back to your dorm."

Fermat looked confused for a moment, then pointed toward Chetwood. "I'll go to A-Alan's room. I want t-to t-tell him about the m-meet anyway."

"You should still walk with someone," Devdan insisted. He called to Mikal. "Mikal, you live in Chetwood, do you not?"

"Yeah, I do," Mikal said, approaching the two other boys. He assessed the situation, and made the correct assumption. "You need someone to walk with, Fermat?"

"I'm g-going to see my f-friend, Alan," Fermat explained. "And y-yeah... if you d-don't mind."

"No skin off my nose," Mikal said with a laugh, stroking the length of his rather prominent proboscis. "Get your gear."

"Th-Thanks," Fermat said with a smile. He retrieved his jacket, slung it over his good shoulder, and followed Mikal toward Chetwood, pausing only to turn and call, "Goodnight, Dev!"

"Man, the weather has gotten cold pretty quickly this year," Mikal said as they strode along. He gave Fermat a speculative look. "How do you cope with the cold at this time of year? I'd think it'd be hard to go from fall and winter here to fall and winter when you got home."

"It's n-not that b-bad," Fermat said. "I g-get spring here, which is g-great. Besides, where I live it's p-pretty tr-tropical year round." He grinned. "I get to go h-home and th-thaw out over Ch-Christmas."

Mikal laughed. "Sounds good to me. I could use a bit of sun at that time of year."

By this time, they were in the lobby of Chetwood. Mikal headed for the elevator. "Are you coming?"

"A-Alan's room is th-this way." Fermat gestured to the hallway.

"Okay. Talk to you later, then, Fermat."

"You, t-too, Mikal. And th-thanks."

Mikal waved, and Fermat headed off toward Alan's room. He started forming in his head the things he would tell his friend about the evening's activities. _He'll be so chuffed when he hears we won, but I doubt it will actually surprise him,_ Fermat realized. He stopped in front of the door and pressed the buzzer button.

A voice sounded inside, indistinct and vaguely angry, and suddenly the door opened and Fermat's eyes widened.

"What the hell do _you_ want, Hackenbacker?" Lee Sugimoto growled.

Taken aback by Sugi's angry face and voice, Fermat stuttered, "A-A-A-Alan!" He calmed a little, then asked, "I want Alan. Is h-he h-here?"

"No, your _special friend_ isn't here," Sugi sneered. "And he can go to hell for all I care. Now go away and stop bothering me!"

The door shut in Fermat's face, and he stepped back a bit. Shaking his head over the abrupt and angry outburst, he started moving down the hall, retracing his steps. _Where could Alan be?_ he wondered. Then, something that he'd seen just over Lee's shoulder registered with him, and he stopped in his tracks. _The top bunk was stripped to bare mattress! Could that mean...?_ He smiled. _I bet I know where Alan is. But I don't know where Dom lives._ Another moment's thought gave him the answer. _Kay will know; I'm sure of it._

There were only a couple of boys in Chetwood's lobby, and Fermat didn't feel like asking someone he didn't know for an escort to the next dorm over. _As long as look like I confident, I should be okay. After all, it's only one building over. _

So thinking, Fermat walked out the front doors of Chetwood. Three out of the four dorms had back doors opened to the less frequented, and poorly lit, service drive, while Chetwood's back door faced the playing fields. Not a bad short cut during the daylight hours, but not to be considered at night, especially now. _I wonder if the latest victim was walking along the service drive when he got attacked,_ Fermat reasoned. _Hm. I'll have to ask Dom and Kay about that when I see them again. It might be an important clue._

He strode up the walk, the chill night breeze making his jacket flap behind him a little. He tightened his grip on the hangar's hook and slowed a little. There was hardly anyone around; even though it was a Friday night, the snack shop and the games room had closed early, sending boys would usually have stayed out later, back to their dorms early. Fermat kept his eyes fastened on his goal and increased his stride, trying to ignore a growing sense of unease. He had nearly reached the steps when someone behind him shouted, "Hey!"

Startled, he turned toward the sound of the voice, ready to bolt up the stairs if necessary. Then he relaxed as he saw the familiar faces of Qaeshon and Alan.

"You two g-g-g... startled m-me," Fermat said as they came up to him.

"I thought that was you, Fermat," Alan said. He frowned thoughtfully. "You said you'd call me after the meet."

Fermat sighed. "I w-would have, but most of the g-guys were sleepy and... well, I w-wanted to t-tell you f-face-to-face."

They had climbed the steps and entered the lobby. "How'd you know to come here?" Alan asked.

"I d-didn't. I th-thought Kay would know where D-Dom lived."

"But you realized he'd moved out?" Qaeshon exchanged confused glances with Alan.

Fermat grinned. "Y-Yeah. A b-bit of detective work on m-my part. I tried your old r-r-r... quarters, and before S-Sugi could shut the d-door in my face, I n-noticed the bare mattress." He draped his jacket over his cast and tapped his temple with one finger and dropped his voice in an attempt to imitate the cartoon character. "I am th-the Brain... remember?"

Alan and Qaeshon both laughed. "Yeah, you're the Brain all right," Kay said. He picked up his pace down the hallway, and glanced over a shoulder, waving his friends to join him. "C'mon. We've got Pinky's stuff moved over while you were gone, but he's got to get it organized."

Fermat followed Alan and Kay down to Dom's room, where they found Zave, and a recently recruited Jason, trying to help Dom – who was most likely behind the closed bathroom door – by taking down posters.

"Boy, there's not enough room to swing a cat in here now," Jason complained. His face brightened when he saw Fermat joining them. "So? Well?" he asked.

"Huh?" Fermat replied, looking puzzled.

"How. Did. You. Do?" Jason enunciated every word as if speaking to a dolt.

Alan rolled his eyes, and Qaeshon reached out to smack Jason on the upper arm. Dom came out of the bathroom, wiping his moist hands on his jeans for good measure. "Hi, Fermat," he said, giving the younger boy a small smile. "Did you win?"

"Yeah," Fermat replied, a wide, proud grin spreading across his face. "We won." Before he could say anything more, the strains of "Powerhouse" sounded from one of his pockets. "Uh, it's my d-dad," he said, coloring a little. "I need to t-talk to him."

"And it's getting late – curfew's soon," Jason added. He glanced at the clock. "Damn! I'd forgotten it was earlier. C'mon, Fermat. I'll carry your jacket, and walk you up to Maplewood. We'll have to make it a quick trip."

"Th-Thanks, Jase," the younger boy said. "See you all, l-later!" Jason was already in the hall, and Fermat opened the phone as he left the room. "Dad... can you c-call back in f-five?" Calls of "Congrats, Fermat!", "Way to go, Brain!", and "Wharton geeks rule!" followed the pair down the hall, then they disappeared into the lobby.

In the sudden quiet, Alan glanced at his friends and new roommate. "This feels really weird."

Qaeshon laughed. "Only you, Pinky." He dusted off his hands. "I think I'd better head upstairs. My roomie's going to wonder where I am."

"How come you two don't share a room?" Alan asked, a confused frown on his face.

The Lewis boys glanced at each other, then back at Alan and said, in unison, "So we won't kill each other."

Alan thought it over for a moment, and the image of Gordon and him sharing a room in their younger days rose to mind. He nodded. "Yeah, I can totally see that."

The brothers chuckled, and Zave got up. "I'll head upstairs, too." He speared a long finger in Alan's direction. "See _you_ at eleven."

"Eleven," Alan echoed. "Right."

Qaeshon and Xavion left, leaving the new roommates looking at each other, feeling like strangers – which in a way, they still were.

Dom broke the silence. "Can you help me stack the boxes over here, out of the way?"

"Sure," Alan said. He picked up a box, making sure he used his knees to lift as Scott had taught him. "I hope the hall monitor will go easy on us tomorrow." He looked around. "This place won't be perfect, that's for sure."

"I'm sure he will," Dom said softly, as he shoved another box toward the growing stack.

Alan lifted that one, too, then gave Dom a questioning glance. "Uh, Dom?"

"Yeah?"

"You're from Florida, right?"

Dom raised an eyebrow at Alan. "Yeah. So?"

"You say that your parents are overprotective because of your asthma, right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Then why are you here? At Wharton? It's a long, long way from Florida." Alan shrugged. "I guess my dad would want me close to home if I had some kind of medical problem that he was worried about."

"Ah, I see," Dom said, his face clearing. He sat in his desk chair, leaning his arms, one atop the other, on the back. "You see, it's my mom that's overprotective. She's the one who had to make the hospital trips and learn all about my condition. Dad, well, he was always working, brokering deals and all. He's the one who wanted me here; it's prestigious, y'see. And truthfully, I wanted to come. My mom could be really smothering at times, y'know. I wanted to show her that I wasn't made of glass or anything." He shrugged. "They must have gotten into a doozy of an argument for Dad to actually agree to come up and get me this time. Sometimes my mom gets really adamant, and makes Dad's life hell until he does things her way." He huffed out a little laugh. "I love them both, and I know they love me. They even love each other! But in this case, I wish they'd leave well enough alone."

Alan had sat back down on the floor, and rested his elbows on his upraised knees, dangling his arms between them. "Do you have brothers or sisters?"

"Yeah. Two sisters, both older. It sucks being the baby of the family, and having a chronic medical condition to boot."

Alan chuckled. "I know all about the 'baby of the family' thing. Try four older brothers, all over-achievers." He shrugged in an off-handed way. "I guess that's why I'm glad to be staying. Last year, I would have jumped at the chance to go home and maybe be educated there." He shook his head. "Not this year. I feel... different, more at home here. Exciting things are happening." When Dom looked askance at him, he waved a dismissive hand. "I don't mean the attacks. Those are on a level all their own. I mean track, and meeting new people... like you. Building a group of cool friends, actually feeling like I'm a part of Wharton." He paused, then added more softly, "Being my own person, instead of my father's son, or my brothers' pest."

" 'Being my own person'." Dom nodded slowly. "Yeah. That sums it up pretty well." He grinned at Alan. "Now, can you tell that to my parents tomorrow?"

"Sure thing! I said I'd use my famous Tracy charm on them." Alan paused again, then grinned. "Hey, maybe if he knows that," here he put up the fore and middle finger of each hand, crooking them, " 'the son of famous astronaut and billionaire, Jeff Tracy' is staying, your dad might reconsider."

"Hmm." Dom considered the thought. "Might work."

"Then that's what I'll tell them. When do you expect them to show up?"

"No earlier than six, according to my mom. Dad's flying them to Springfield, then renting a car there."

"Okay, I should be back by then." Alan looked around the room. "I guess we'd better finish clearing up this mess before lights out."

"Right." Dom offered Alan an hand up. "And thanks."

Alan took the hand and climbed to his feet. "Don't thank me yet. We still have to convince them both."

xxxx

Jason walked Fermat to the front steps of Maplewood, said a hurried goodnight, and sprinted for his own dorm. Fermat took the steps two at a time, and sighed with relief once inside.

"Cutting it fine, Hackenbacker," said the hall monitor in charge of locking the doors that night.

"Y-Yeah," Fermat acknowledged. "B-But I bet I won't be th-the only l-l-l... tardy one." He smiled. "And I wasn't even l-late."

Shouldering his jacket once more, he headed for the elevator and took it up to the third floor. The upper hall was noisier than usual at this time of night, mostly because more boys were inside for the earlier curfew. Fermat greeted a few of his hall mates, then clumsily draped the jacket over his cast so he could open the door with his free hand.

"Hmm." The room was dark, which surprised him. He had fully expected to find A.J. at home, reading or maybe checking out something on the computer. Turning on the lights, he saw that the room was in order; nothing was missing. A.J.'s backpack was lying on the chair before his desk, and it seemed that he'd changed out of his uniform. Fermat hung his uniform jacket up, and followed it with his outer coat. Then he went looking for his roommate.

When a search of the common rooms on each floor yielded no sign of A.J., Fermat went over to the hall monitor who was waiting for the stragglers, ready to unlock the dormitory doors - and take names for later demerits.

"H-Has Andrew Tr-Trumbull come in?" he asked.

"Your roommate?" the older boy said. When Fermat nodded, he asked, "He's not here already?" He shook his head. "No, not yet."

"Th-Thanks," Fermat said. He headed back up to his floor, a touch of worry added to the frustration of mystery. As he sat in his desk chair, he couldn't shake the feeling that A.J. could be the next victim of whoever was attacking students. But before he could go any further with that train of thought, his phone rang again. He picked it up from the desk where he'd laid it, plugged in his earphone, and answered the call.

"Hey, son!" Brains said with a smile. "G-Good to finally s-s-s-see you! Are you b-back in your room?"

"Y-Yeah, Dad," Fermat replied. "Curfew was p-pushed up a half hour, but I have the s-same b-bedtime."

"G-Good! It will g-give us time to t-talk." Brains frowned a little. "What's wr-wrong, son?"

"A.J. hasn't c-come in y-yet, and I'm w-w-w... concerned."

"I can understand th-that. He's b-b-become a friend, hasn't h-he?"

Fermat nodded. "Yeah, and I d-don't w-want to see him get h-hurt."

"I know you d-don't." Brains tried to give his son an encouraging smile. "We'll have to h-hope he c-comes in s-s-s... presently." He moistened his lips. "But we have s-something im-important to t-t-t... discuss."

The reminder made Fermat squirm. "I know." He paused, then decided it would be best to be frank. "D-Dad, I d-don't want to l-leave! Please d-don't make me!"

Brains waited for a moment, letting his son's words and, more importantly, his tone sink in. Then he sighed. "I thought this m-might be your r-r-reaction." Resettling himself in his chair, he paused to find the best way to present his arguments. "I know how you f-feel, son, but it's n-not necessarily what's b-best for you... or for me e-either."

"For you?" Fermat asked, frowning in confusion. "I don't understand. H-How?"

His father took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief, then put them on again. "I m-must admit, I w-would worry l-less if you w-were here. You are a p-perfect target of these h-hooligans, m-more so since you d-disrupted their attack on y-your friend. And though A-Alan is staying, h-he is st-stronger, and more a-agile... and he d-doesn't have a b-broken arm." His voice softened. "Beyond worry, I w-would find your p-presence in the l-lab very w-welcome. You often inspire m-me, and we c-complement each o-other's intellect." He cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough. "To be b-blunt, son, I've m-missed you."

Fermat blinked hard to clear his eyes of sudden tears. "I-I've missed you, t-too, Dad." He sniffed once, and again, then took a calming breath. "But... I'd miss so much n-not b-being here, too." He swallowed. "I wish you could h-have seen the c-competition. It w-was awesome! I've n-never been with s-such smart kids b-before. They're like m-me. I can t-talk to them and they understand me, and wh-what it's like to be so s-s-smart. Even A-Alan doesn't understand that. I'm learning to r-rely on myself more, e-e-even with the br-broken arm. And... it's c-cold."

"It's c-cold?" Brains looked surprised.

"Yeah. C-Cold." Fermat grinned. "I w-was talking to M-Mikal – he's one of the u-upperclassmen on the t-team – about it t-today. Cold is d-different from wh-what I'm u-used to. It m-makes me appreciate it f-for its own s-sake and it m-makes me appreciate the i-island when I c-come home." He paused. "I love to s-see snow. D-Don't much like slogging around in it, but it's p-pretty. I w-want to s-see it this y-year." He paused, then softly added, "I c-can't see it at home."

"W-We could go somewhere," Brains c-countered. "Australia... New Zealand... they have snow."

"B-But in J-June or July, Dad," Fermat reminded him. "And be h-honest, would we go? There's always s-something urgent to be done at w-work, always a new e-experiment." He shook his head. "When is the l-last time we went away t-together?"

Brains stopped for a moment to think, then he smiled. "When we b-brought you to sc-school."

"That d-doesn't count, Dad," Fermat retorted, rolling his eyes.

There was a long moment of silence between them, then Brains asked, "You really w-want to stay?"

"Yeah, Dad, I d-do."

"Okay, you c-can stay."

Fermat's face lit up with delight, but Brains held up a finger. "There are c-conditions." That sobered the boy up quickly, and he nodded. "One, you f-follow the suggestions that the p-police have given. I have an email of them here. B-Be especially careful at n-night; always have someone to w-walk with. Observe your c-curfew stringently. And call to ch-check in every night."

"Every n-night?" Fermat asked. "Why?"

"So I kn-know you're safe," Brains said. He smiled softly. "And so m-maybe I won't m-miss you so m-much." He raised an eyebrow, giving Fermat an inquisitive look. "Do we have a d-deal?"

"D-Deal, Dad," the boy replied, grinning. "Are you st-still coming n-next weekend?"

"W-Wild horses c-couldn't keep me away."

"Daaaaaad," Fermat said. "There _are_ no w-wild horses on the island."

"So?" Brains grinned. "They c-couldn't keep me away if th-they were here."

The door to Fermat's room opened, and he glanced toward it, seeing his roommate enter. A.J. gave him a half-hearted wave; Fermat returned it with a hesitant one of his own, then he turned back to his father.

"A.J. just came in, D-Dad. I'd b-better go."

"R-Right, son. T-Talk to you t-tomorrow night. Oh, send me an email t-telling some more details of th-the meet. V-Virgil's want to know about the qu-questions they asked."

"Okay, D-Dad. Talk to you later."

"Love you, son."

Here, in the privacy of his room, Fermat felt he could reciprocate. "Love you, t-too, Dad. Bye."

The phone call ended, and Fermat paused for a moment before putting his equipment away. Once he had things tucked in his drawer, he turned to A.J. "Hey, what's up? You're k-kinda late."

"I know." A.J. was lying on his bed, his stockinged feet flat on its surface, the heels of his hands covering his eyes.

Fermat waited a moment, then asked, "You want to t-talk about it?"

"Not much to say. My dad, for the first time in recorded history, came to visit me at school. He took me out to dinner, and we had a long 'discussion' about Wharton and the dangers here." A.J. pulled his hands away from his eyes, and gazed at Fermat, who could see the puffy, reddened lids. "The upshot of it is that my father will be finding me another school, and you'll soon have a room to yourself."

_

* * *

How will the shopping trip go? Will the guys be able to visit Erik? Will Alan's famous "Tracy Charm" sway the Bertolis? What about A.J.? And will the mystery assailants strike again? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	33. Unsettling Information

_Author's note: _A restless night, followed by a busy morning. Tin-Tin is heard from again, and Alan, Zave, and Kay visit Erik. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Fermat had a hard time getting to sleep that night. It wasn't only the shock of A.J.'s pronouncement that made it difficult, but also the muted sobs he heard coming from the upper bunk. _I wish I knew what to do to make things better,_ he thought miserably. _I'm sure Mr. Trumbull wouldn't listen to me; I'm just a kid._

Alan, too, was finding it difficult to sleep, but for a different reason. The sounds of Birchwood were different than those of Chetwood, and the snore of his roommate - once Dom had stopped tossing and turning and had dropped off – was distracting. _I hope I can convince Mr. and Mrs. Bertoli to let Dom stay. Maybe, this once, me being my father's son will be useful to somebody else – instead of just myself._ He tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, hearing a truck go by on the service road behind the dorm. _I keep coming back to Erik, and wondering why those creeps picked on him. There's got to be something there, something I don't know yet. Maybe talking to him will give me... give **us** another clue._ He huffed a quiet laugh. _Not that we're all these great detectives or anything. I'm sure the cops are working on this and will find out who's behind it. Still, it would be nice to have all the pieces in place, just for my own satisfaction._

The alarm rang in Fermat's ear much too soon, it seemed. He turned it off, got up with a groan, and crossed the room to put on his glasses. A.J. stirred, but didn't wake, and Fermat was glad of it. He showered, wrapping his cast in a special sleeve that the hospital had provided. He was already beginning to feel the itching that he'd been warned about, but he did his best to ignore it. _My arm's going to look like a zombie's by the time this thing heals,_ he thought sourly. He dressed in casual clothes; it was Saturday, after all. When he came to the ID lanyard he'd been given, he hesitated, then pulled it on over his head. _Better safe than sorry._

Pulling his outer jacket on, sliding the sleeve over his cast, he quietly left the room and went down to the lobby. There he paused, and frowned. It was still dim outside, with gray clouds adding to the murky daylight from a barely-risen sun. There was no one in the lobby; very few got up to eat Saturday breakfast, even though there was room inspection later. Fermat groaned. _I guess I'm going to have to get used to cleaning the whole room by myself,_ he thought, looking out the glass of the front doors. _I wonder how long it'll take Mr. Trumbull to find another school? Maybe he won't pull A.J. out right away..._

His musings were interrupted by the swishing open of the lobby door. "Hey, Fermat!"

"Alan! Kay!"

The two older boys stepped into the lobby, looking happy, if a bit chilled. Alan, who was only wearing a sweater, shivered. "It's a whole lot cooler out than I expected!"

"I told you to wear something heavier, Pinky, but you just wouldn't listen," Qaeshon said, shaking his head.

"I'd want to take it off by the time we go shopping," Alan shot back. "It'd be too heavy and bulky to carry..."

Fermat shook his head. "You t-two sound like a c-couple of _girls_." He pushed open the door. "Let's g-go. I'm st-starved and I n-need to stop for my m-medicine."

"Girls? We don't sound like girls..." Alan could be heard protesting as they stepped out into the cool morning air.

"We're supposed to meet up with Zave and Dom at the dining hall," Kay informed Fermat as they walked along. "They were having trouble waking up this morning."

"Wonder if Dom is like that every morning," Alan said.

"Don't know, but Zave is only that way on weekends, when he doesn't have to go running or something," Kay replied. He glanced at Fermat's arm, waving a hand at the cast. "You still having pain from that break?"

Fermat shook his head. "No, not m-much... or maybe I d-don't notice it until I'm t-tired or something. St-Still, I'd r-rather have the meds, just in case I do n-need them."

"I can understand that," Alan said. He paused, then asked, "Did you talk to your Dad last night?"

Fermat tried to keep from smiling as he answered, "Yeah, I d-did."

"And?" Alan asked, nudging Fermat with an elbow.

His smile under control, Fermat gave his friend a bland look. "A-And what?"

"What did he say?"

"He s-said lots of things." Fermat was enjoying teasing Alan.

Alan sighed dramatically, and looked to the heavens, mouthing the words, "Why me?", using his hands to emphasize his exasperation. Qaeshon began to snicker at them both.

"Did. He. Say. You. Could. Stay?" Alan punctuated his words much as Jason had the evening before.

"Ohhh!" Fermat cried, as if enlightenment had just hit him. "Wh-Why didn't you ask th-that in the f-first place?" He paused for dramatic effect, then looked down to hide the grin he could no longer stop. "Yeah. He d-did."

"Woo hoo!" Alan crowed. He held up a hand, and first Qaeshon, then Fermat slapped his palm. "I am sooo glad you're staying!"

"Me, too!" Qaeshon echoed, his grin wide and white in his dark face. "This place would _not_ be the same without you, Brain."

"Now all we have to worry about is Dom..." Alan began.

"And A.J.," Fermat said quickly.

"A.J.? He's leaving?" Qaeshon asked, suddenly both surprised and concerned.

"L-Looks like it," Fermat said. He told them about his and Devdan's encounter with Mr. Trumbull the previous afternoon, and what A.J. had said to him last evening.

"That's a problem," Alan said, stroking his chin. "I don't know if there's anything we can do, even if it does take time for Mr. Trumbull to find another school for A.J. I think he'd take A.J. with him this weekend, since he's already here."

"_Could_ he do that?" Qaeshon asked. "I mean, wouldn't there be papers to sign and stuff? Would the office staff be working over the weekend?"

"Hey!" Alan cried. "That's a good question. Maybe we should check it out after breakfast." He looked up. "And speaking of breakfast, here's the infirmary. Better get your meds, Fermat."

Fermat ducked inside and spoke to the nurse on duty, who got his meds, asked him a few questions, and had him sign off that he'd gotten them. Then, ready to eat, Fermat returned to his friends.

"C'mon," Qaeshon said. "I can see Zave and Dom waiting for us."

"Y-You can?" Fermat squinted in the general direction of the dining hall. "You've got g-good eyesight."

Alan gave his friend a quick, concerned glance, then hurried along in Qaeshon's wake to catch up with the older boys and break his morning fast.

Conversation around the table was, predictably, about those leaving. Dom nodded toward Alan. "He says he's going to use his 'famous Tracy charm' on my parents."

"M-More like his '_in_famous Tracy ch-charm'," Fermat said with a sly grin.

"Yeah, Dom," Qaeshon said, winking at Fermat. "You _sure_ you want Pinky here to try and convince your parents? It may well backfire."

Dom looked from one boy to the other, then snorted a laugh. "Hey, it's not gonna make things worse if he tries."

Alan rolled his eyes, and shook his head. "Now, now, children," he said, trying to sound older and stuffy. "Play nice." He turned to the senior. "Zave, do you know if parents would be able to pick up their kids today? I mean, there'd have to be papers to sign and all."

"Hmm. Good point, Pinky," Xavion said, nodding. "We can check it out after breakfast. Won't take but a minute or two, then we can get back and clean up for inspection." He made a sour face. "Can't leave until that's complete."

"Hopefully, they'll cut Dom and me some slack, seeing as I'm moving in and all." Alan took a last bite of his meal, chewing thoughtfully. He pointed his empty fork at Fermat. "Y'know, I could try to convince Mr. Trumbull, too. My dad has a reputation... maybe it would carry some weight there."

"I don't know, A-Alan," Fermat said. "There's a d-difference between D-Dom and A.J.'s situations. I mean, A-A.J.'s just a kid. His f-father would probably take m-more convincing."

"Yeah, you're right," Alan said with a sigh. "Well, in any case, I'll want to get together with you this afternoon about the math homework Mr. Graboski gave us before we left class. You'll need the assignment, and I may need the help."

"R-Right. What time?"

"Five?"

"S-Sounds good."

The group was nearly finished, and Alan was stacking his dirty things and trash with Fermat's, to make it easier to carry. He stopped as he saw the rest of the crew looking above and behind him.

"Hey, Bertoli," came a sneering voice. "You'd better watch out; you're making Hackenbacker jealous."

"And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean, Sugimoto?" Xavion asked, coolly. Alan resumed his chore, trying to ignore his former roommate.

"Only that Hackenbacker told me to my face yesterday that he wanted Tracy," Sugi said smugly. "Didn't you, Hackenbacker?"

Fermat paled for a moment, then his face regained its color and became very, very calm. Alan's eyes widened a bit. To anyone who could read his friend, a controlled Fermat was a very angry Fermat.

The sophomore removed his glasses, and began to wipe them with a handkerchief he pulled from his jacket pocket, looking as if he had all the time in the world. He gazed up at Lee, a dark and tan blur until he put his glasses back on. Then he gave Sugi a cold and calculating look. Taking a deep breath, he smiled thinly and, his voice dripping with sarcasm, said, "If you choose to misconstrue my comment of yesterday afternoon, Mr. Sugimoto, I have to wonder exactly how deep in the gutter your mind must be." He paused for his words to sink in, then turned to his friends. "I'm ready to l-leave now."

"So am I," Alan said. He pushed his chair back and rose quickly, too quickly for Lee to step out of the way. Juice splashed as Alan's shoulder bumped the tray, causing Sugi to backpedal and swear.

"I'll get you for that, Tracy. You think your daddy's money and prestige protects you, but you're wrong," Sugi ground out. "And you, Hackenbacker, thinking that being his friend will keep you from being a little nobody. You'll know better soon enough."

The other boys had risen by this time, and were ready to get rid of their trays. They moved slowly and watched with interest as Xavion paused as he passed by the fuming Sugi. "I'd be careful, Sugi, if I were you. Threats like those will only get you into trouble... and as far as I'm concerned, you're in enough trouble already." Then he moved on.

"I thought you had more class than to hang around with losers like those, Lewis," called a seething Sugi at Zave's retreating back. "But if you want to take a fall with them, that's your look-out."

Zave kept walking, bringing up the rear of the small processional. Alan dropped back a bit to pace the senior. "You okay, Zave?"

Xavion nodded. "Yeah, I'm cool. I can take it. But I hope those drug tests come back soon." At Alan's puzzled look, he added, "I'd rather be able to blame Sugi's change in personality on some outside influence than to think he's really become like this." He shook his head. "He was a good friend, Alan, and a cool guy. I wish you'd known him last year."

"Me too," Alan said softly.

Qaeshon leaned in to talk to Fermat. "I couldn't believe you said that to Sugi! How'd you keep from stuttering?"

"I s-s-stutter because my m-mind moves f-faster than my m-mouth can keep up," Fermat replied softly. "Sometimes, wh-when I r-r-r... concentrate hard, I c-can slow d-down the thoughts... and e-eliminate the st-stutter." He shrugged. "It takes a lot of f-focus for me to do it, s-so I d-don't do it often." He smiled and gave Qaeshon a nudge. "I r-rather like my brain the way it is, th-thank you very much."

Qaeshon handed his tray to the worker on duty. For once, it wasn't Pierce. "It sure surprised me!" He grinned and nudged Fermat back. "You rock, Brain, you really do."

Fermat smiled widely. "Thanks."

The little group walked over to the administration building to learn if anyone from the office staff was there. The door to the front parking lot was unlocked, and the boys cautiously walked in. Unfortunately, what they feared was true; there was a table in the lobby for the express purpose of processing students whose parents wanted to pull them from Wharton. No one was waiting at the moment; the hour was still early. Mrs. Belvedere and her secretary were separating various forms, discussing which would be the best way to handle those who would arrive.

Mrs. Belvedere looked up as she heard them approach. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said politely. "Can I help any of you?"

"Uh, no, ma'am," Xavion said respectfully. "We were just wondering if there would be anyone here today to help parents check their kids out of school, that's all."

The head of student services gave him a small, rueful smile. "Well, as you can see, Mr. Lewis, we will be here all day and into the evening to aid any parents who come." She glanced over the small group, noting each boy. "Will I be seeing any of your parents today?"

"Not mine." "Our folks won't be coming." "My d-dad said I could stay," were the answers she got from all but Dom, who said, "My folks will be here sometime this afternoon."

Mrs. Belvedere's face softened. "I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Bertoli. We will miss you." She glanced at Alan. "Are you still moving to Mr. Bertoli's room, Mr. Tracy?"

"Yes, ma'am," Alan said. "I actually moved things last night; Dom said it was okay." He glanced at his new roommate. "I hope we can talk Dom's folks out of taking him from school, though."

"Really?" Mrs. Belvedere gave Alan a puzzled look. She seemed to want to say more, then thought better of it, and nodded instead. "Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, Mrs. Burke and I have more work to do. Have a nice day."

"Yes ma'am." "Goodbye." "Th-Thank you." The boys tendered their farewells, but before they could leave, Mrs. Burke looked up.

"Alan Tracy?"

Alan turned. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Just wanted you to know that we received your father's permission for your excursion today. You can check out at the guard house with your ID card."

"Thank you, ma'am," Alan replied, smiling. "I appreciate you telling me." He gave the two ladies a little wave, and the boys left.

"Well," Qaeshon said, stretching. "We'd better get back to clean up."

"Yeah," Alan said. He gazed upward and made a face. "Looks like we might get some rain today."

"Good thing you moved your stuff over last night," Dom commented. "Moving in the rain is the pits."

The small group fell into a companionable silence as they headed back to the dorms. When they reached Birchwood, Zave and Dom climbed the steps, but stopped half way up. "You going to walk the Brain home, Kay?" Xavion asked his brother.

"Yeah, Pinky and I will do it, then some back together."

"Well, we'll get started on cleaning. See you in a few minutes."

Alan raised a hand in acknowledgment, and Fermat said, "See y-you later." Then they parted company.

"Do you need anything from the store while I'm out?" Alan asked as they walked along.

"S-Some more root beer would be n-nice," Fermat said. "And those ch-chips I like. Maybe some m-more chocolate. You kn-know what I like."

"Okay, no problem."

Alan and Qaeshon stopped at the bottom of Maplewood's steps. "See you later, Fermat," Alan said, waving a hand as Fermat climbed up and paused at the front doors.

"Later, Alan." Fermat replied, then turned and went inside.

Alan and Kay glanced at each other, and both sighed. "Depressing, isn't it?" Alan said as he turned to head back to his new dorm.

"Yeah." Kay put his hands in his jacket pockets. He was about to say something when he felt a drop of water course down his scalp, under his dreadlocks. He pulled a hand out, and held it, palm up. "Seems the weather is about to make things even more depressing."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "And I'm only wearing a sweater. We'd better run for it."

Qaeshon nodded, and the two took off down the walkway, Kay only slightly behind Alan as they sprinted to the shelter of their dormitory.

xxxx

Fermat took off his jacket and hung it up in his closet. A.J. was awake; the hiss of the shower could be heard clearly in the quiet of the room. The older boy sat down at his computer and booted it up, then went online to check his email. Gordon had sent him a page full of light bulb jokes; half of them made him groan and roll his eyes, the other half made him chuckle, and one or two made him laugh aloud. There were notes from a few of his pen pals; boys and girls he'd met at camps and summer programs when he was younger. He was discovering that the girls, for the most part, were getting more and more interested in boys, which made them less interesting to him. _Mostly because they like boys more than math or science now,_ Fermat thought ruefully. _Though, who knows? They might change back later. _

He sat back suddenly, realizing - for the first, unsettling time - how his current discomfort over his girl pen pals' growing obsession with dating and boys could be twisted into something it wasn't. He shook his head slowly. _No. I **like** girls; they can be really cool people! I just don't like to see them abandon their academic passions for romance._ Then he noticed something that all at once made him sit up, smile, and feel better about the subject he'd been contemplating. _Great! A letter from Tin-Tin!_

_Hi, Fermat,_

_My mother called to tell me about what happened at Wharton, and told me that you had been somewhat involved. I hope you and Alan are all right. It's scary that someone would do something like that to a kid for any reason. I know you had your share of bullying last year but this seems to go way beyond just bullying. Please be careful, and make sure Alan does the same._

_For the first time since I got here, I'm really homesick. I'm so used to being able to do what I want, when I want, and I miss the freedom I had on the island, even when I was doing schoolwork. But now... everything is scheduled for me. I have to be here or there at a certain time, doing this or that, and it can get really confusing. I know that some of the other girls look down on me because of my accent, and my skin color. They've started calling me "Tahiti" behind my back. They all think it's terribly funny, but I can see inside them, and I know they mean it to hurt. Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself that what they are calling me is something beautiful – a beautiful, tropical island. I know the word itself means 'distant', but they haven't bothered to find that out, or it would be worse, I think. My new friends are sticking by me, though, and Lady Penelope does what she can to make me feel better._

_Speaking of seeing inside them, I find myself more and more tempted to do... things. You know what I'm talking about, like what I did with the scorpion – and my uncle. And they don't have any good purpose either. Making some of the nasty girls trip, maybe getting their everlastingly boring cups of tea to spill on their fancy frocks – it's frightening how much I want to get back at them! I can do it from across the room, and no one would know – no one but me, that is. And that's the scariest part of all. Fermat, for the first time I can see how my uncle might have started to become what he is, with just the little stuff at first, then bigger and bigger things as he got away with more and more. I don't want to give him any sympathy, but I see all this now, and I understand, a little. I know with all my heart that I don't want to be like him. But the temptation is so very hard to resist._

_I've said enough for now, I guess. Be very careful, Fermat, and keep an eye on Alan. I know he's strong and all, but he doesn't always think. You do. Keep thinking for the both of you and stay out of trouble. Write back when you can._

_Your friend,_

_Tin-Tin_

Fermat frowned. This didn't sound like the cheerful, independent Tin-Tin he knew. He thought hard for a long moment, trying to decide on what to say, then opened a reply window. He'd gotten as far as, "Dear Tin-Tin" when a voice to his left made him jump.

"Hey, Fermat." A.J. looked tired, and sad. He was wrapped up in his bathrobe, and his dark hair stood out at odd angles. "Sorry if I startled you."

"S'okay," Fermat replied. "I didn't hear the sh-shower stop." There was a brief, awkward pause, then A.J. turned to pull clothes out of his closet and dresser, and Fermat went back to his email.

"When is your f-father supposed to c-come?" Fermat asked, not looking up.

"He's coming by to take me to lunch first, then will be back later this afternoon. I'm supposed to have my stuff packed by the time he comes back," A.J. said, sounding subdued. He pulled his t-shirt on over his head, then stopped, giving Fermat a thoughtful glance. "Do you think the offices will be closed today?"

Fermat sighed, and turned back toward his roommate. "The guys and I w-were wondering the same thing, so we ch-checked. Mrs. Belvedere has a t-table set up in the administration building."

"Damn." A.J.'s curse was so quiet, and so unlike him that Fermat stared for a moment in shock. A.J. frowned, puzzled. "What's the matter?"

"I don't think I've h-heard you sw-sw-sw... cuss before."

A.J. blinked. "Oh. Sorry." He shook his head and pulled out a button down shirt. "I didn't get to ask you last night; how'd your team do?"

"We won." Fermat smiled a little, savoring the satisfied feeling he remembered. "It was a g-great meet."

"Congratulations." A.J. gave Fermat a small smile. "I wish I could see the one coming up," he added sadly, sighing. He bit his lower lip as he pulled up his slacks and fastened them, then he took his socks and shoes to his chair to put them on.

Fermat looked thoughtful, then asked, "Wh-What would your f-father think if he knew I w-was staying?"

A.J. stopped tying his shoe and glanced up, surprised. "You are?"

"Yeah." Fermat nodded. "My d-dad said it was o-o-o... all right, provided I am c-careful."

"I dunno what he'd say." A.J. started pulling on his other sock. "I doubt it would make much of an impression. He... doesn't know your father. If they knew each other, that'd be a different thing."

"I see."

"But... I suppose it wouldn't hurt." A.J. stood, and went back to his closet for his belt. "You can tell him when he comes to pick me up."

Fermat's mouth suddenly went dry. He remembered how tongue-tied he'd been the day before in Mr. Trumbull's presence. Then he thought about his little run-in with Lee Sugimoto, and he relaxed. "Okay. I w-will."

xxxx

"Hey, Zave?" Alan leaned over towards the driver from his position in the back seat before buckling his seatbelt.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think about a visit to the hospital? See if... uh..." He glanced at Qaeshon, who sat in the passenger's side front seat. "See if you-know-who is still there."

Qaeshon gave Alan a exasperated look. "Zave told me who got beat up, Alan." He glanced at his brother. "He's not exactly a member of the mass media, but he does tend to tell me things that he's not really supposed to."

Xavion gave a weak laugh. "Uh, yeah. One of my few failings." He paused, then nodded. "I think that's a good idea, Pinky. If he's still there, we won't have to stay long, and if he's not, we can move on."

"Will they even let us in?" Qaeshon asked. "I mean, we're not adults or anything. And we're not family."

"I'm sure we're old enough, Kay," Alan said, sitting back to buckle himself in. "We don't exactly look like little kids. And we can ask someone to see if Erik would let us visit. If he's not up to it, fine."

"Okay, then. To the hospital."

They checked out at the guard house, then headed into New Ashford proper. The town was a burgeoning one, a bedroom suburb to the nearby Pittsfield. It didn't have a hospital of its own, so Xavion turned south onto Route 7 and headed for the larger town of Pittsfield.

"Do you know where the hospital is?" Qaeshon asked, turning back to Alan.

"Yeah, I got driving directions, just in case we could go." Alan handed up a folded sheet of paper, which Qaeshon opened.

"Turn left at the light," he instructed his brother.

It didn't take long to find the hospital, though it did take time to find a parking space. Alan felt jittery inside, and made himself take a deep, calming breath. As they got out of the car, Qaeshon gave Alan a searching look. "You okay, Pinky?"

Alan nodded slightly. "Yeah, I'll be okay. It's just that to me and my family, hospitals aren't on our list of favorite places."

"Hey, you were the one who suggested this, Pinky," Xavion said. "If it was going to make you nervous..."

Alan interrupted him. "I'll be okay, Zave. Really." He smiled and shrugged. "Let's find out if Erik's here."

They walked into the lobby and over to the information desk. Xavion, being eldest, and looking most like an adult, took the lead. " 'Scuse me, sir, but what room is Erik Tolbert in?"

The old man behind the desk punched some keys, then frowned. "How do you spell it?"

Xavion patiently spelled Erik's name, and this time the receptionist had an answer for him. "He's in the children's wing, room 304. Take the elevators to the right, and up two floors. Turn left, and he should be on that hall."

"Thank you, sir," Zave said politely, then he and he companions headed for the elevators.

"See," Alan whispered to Qaeshon as the entered the lift. "I told you we'd get in. No problem."

The doors opened onto the lobby area of the third floor, and the three boys followed the signs to the children's ward. The walls and doors were painted in bright, saturated hues; the floor was a veritable crazy-quilt of colorful linoleum squares. They found room 304 without incident, then stopped just before they got to close to the half-opened door.

"Who wants to go in first?" Zave said.

"You should," Alan insisted. "You're the team captain."

"And the oldest one here," Kay added.

Zave shook his head. "You know him better, Pinky."

"Yeah, you do. You're his teammate," Kay said in agreement.

The two track team members stopped to glare at Qaeshon. "Hey! Don't look at me!" He pointed to himself with both hands. "I'm only along for the ride!" he exclaimed.

"The only fair way to settle this is 'paper, rock, scissors'," Alan declared.

Zave gave him a speculative look. "Your family does that, too?"

"Yep. All the time," Alan replied. He put a hand behind his back, and Zave followed suit. "Okay, paper, rock, scissors... go!"

Alan brought out his hand in a fist, representing the rock, and Xavion's hand was flat, like a piece of paper. "Paper covers rock," Zave said with satisfaction. "You go first."

"Okay," Alan grumbled. He stepped up to the door and knocked first, then slowly stuck his head in. "Erik?"

"Hey, Alan."

At Erik's greeting, Alan pushed his way into the room, Zave and Kay close on his heels.

"Hey, Zave. Hey, Kay. Good to see you."

As the Lewis brothers greeted Erik, Alan winced and drew a hissing breath in through his teeth. Erik's face was bruised, and one eye was swollen nearly shut. He had a wide piece of gauze wrapped around his head, holding a thick patch of it in place on his forehead, near the hairline. One of his legs, the ankle wrapped in a firm bandage, was elevated on a foam pillow, and his left hand was also bandaged, with splints holding three of his fingers still. His lower lip looked swollen and there was an obvious place where a split had been glued shut. All in all, he looked terrible.

"I'd like to say that you should have seen the other guys," Erik mumbled, his swollen lip making talking difficult. "But I don't think I landed too many punches." He turned to his left, where a petite woman now stood. "Mom, this is Xavion Lewis - he's the track team captain – my fellow teammate, Alan Tracy, and Xavion's brother, Qaeshon. Guys, my mom, Teresa Sanford."

Each of the boys greeted Mrs. Sanford politely, and shook her hand. When the introductions were over, Mrs. Sanford gave the boys a critical look. "I was under the impression that no one at Wharton knew who was attacked."

"Uh, that's true, ma'am," Xavion said, sounding a bit sheepish. "But as track team captain, I was told." He motioned toward Alan. "Since Alan and Erik were both on the cross-country squad, and had sort of gotten friendly, I told him – just for his own information, and not to spread around, ma'am. My brother... well, I sorta let it slip with him. I'm sorry for that, ma'am."

Alan jumped in. "We were going shopping off-campus today, and I suggested that maybe we could visit Erik while we were out." He indicated Qaeshon with a wave in the boy's direction. "Kay here has something in common with Erik; he was attacked too, just a couple of days after school started."

Kay nodded solemnly. "I was lucky; a mutual friend of ours came running, and helped drive the creeps off so I wasn't hurt like Erik here was."

"I see," said Mrs. Sanford. "I think I'll have a little talk..."

Erik waved his wrapped hand at her. "Mom, please. Don't get them in trouble. They've been good to me and I'm glad they came."

Mother and son held each other's gaze for a few moments, then she sighed and nodded. "All right, I won't go to the school. But please, boys, don't let this go any further. We've avoided a lot of publicity because of the school's discretion. I'd hate to have to deal with reporters because one of Erik's friends let something slip. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." "Sure, Mrs. Sanford." "Don't worry, ma'am; I'll keep a tight rein on my brother." Qaeshon's statement was made with a wink and a sly grin, and Erik's mom laughed in spite of herself.

"Okay. I'm sure you boys want to talk in relative privacy, so I'm going to get myself some lunch." She leaned over to kiss her son on an unbruised cheekbone. "The doctor said he would probably release you this evening, so don't talk too long, okay? You do need some rest."

"Yes, Mom," Erik said. Mrs. Sanford retrieved her purse, gave the boys a small wave, and left the room.

Alan slid himself onto the corner of the bed's mattress, near the end, while Xavion sat down in the one chair provided by the hospital. Qaeshon leaned up against the wall closest to the head of the bed, sliding his hands in his pockets.

There was an uncomfortable silence after everyone got settled. No one wanted to ask the obvious question of Erik. Finally, Alan took matters into his own hands. "So," he said. "What happened?"

Erik sighed, and began to talk, sounding as if he was reciting something he'd told people more than once. "I was out for a jog around the playing fields just before dinner. It's something I do when the weather's good. There was still some daylight left; not much, but enough that the campus lights hadn't come on yet. Suddenly, these three guys just... jumped me. They tackled me, taking me to the ground face first, then piled on so I couldn't get up." He stopped and reached for a cup of water with a straw, taking a long sip, then a deep breath followed it. "Sorry. It's still hard to talk about."

"Hey, it's okay," Qaeshon said quietly. "You don't have to go on if you don't want to."

"No. The doctor said I should talk about it, not keep it bottled up." Erik ran his tongue over his lips.

"You couldn't see who it was?" Zave asked.

Erik shook his head. "Like I said, they all piled on me from behind. I got the impression of knit hats and shades, but it happened so fast, that I wasn't sure. One of them clamped a hand over my mouth, then..." He paused, and turned his face away from his friends. "...they put a gun to my head."

The three friends sat or stood up straight at that. "A gun?" Alan cried.

Erik took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "That's what they said it was; I really couldn't see it. They put this metal thing to my head and said if I played along, they wouldn't blow my brains out." He reached for the water again, and took a long drink. The boys heard the slurp of the straw, and Zave got up to refill the cup from the pitcher on the bedside table. Erik nodded his thanks, took another sip, then put the water down. "Then they blindfolded me and bodily hauled me off to this little... I don't know what to call it. Sort of a clearing, with some logs and maybe an old fire pit."

The three visitors exchanged startled glances. "The Hollow?" Alan asked.

"Sounds like it to me," Zave said, nodding. "We think we know where they took you," he explained to Erik. "I'm surprised they didn't say anything about it at the meeting – declare it off-limits or something."

"That would only have made everybody eager to go out there and see where the attack had happened," Alan surmised. He gave Erik an encouraging smile. "Go on, if you're up to it."

Erik smiled back as best he could, but the smile faded as he went on with his story. "When they got to the clearing, the actual beating began in earnest. Two of them would hold me and the other would hit, kick..." He stopped abruptly, and reached for the cup again.

"So you didn't see who they were?" Qaeshon asked softly.

Erik shook his head. "No. They did what they could to keep me from recognizing them. And I didn't recognize voices either, though I got the impression I should have. They were putting on phony accents or making their voices really low."

"Sounds as if they thought you would recognize them," Zave said. He paused, then looked down at his feet as he asked, "Did you try to struggle or fight?"

"Struggle, yes, at first. Fight? No, not really." Erik sat up a little straighter and grimaced. "I've never learned how to fight. They were heavy, and when I say they hauled me off bodily, I mean just that. Two of them had my arms pinned and were carrying me from that end, and the other had my legs around the knees. Then there was the gun."

The three visitors each let out a pent-up breath. "Man, Erik, that sounds like a nightmare," Qaeshon said softly.

"It was," Erik said. "It still is."

Alan looked thoughtful. "If they blindfolded you, how'd you see where they took you?"

"When they were finished, they just left me there. I managed to get the blindfold off, but by the time I did, they were long gone. I ended up hauling myself back to campus, where Mr. Beccara found me."

There was a long pause, then Qaeshon said carefully, "The guys who attacked were making fun of me, telling me I shouldn't play an instrument, that I should go out for sports." He glanced at his brother. "I thought at first Zave had sent them, that they were friends of his or something." He smiled a little. "I was wrong." Qaeshon turned back toward Erik. "Those who attacked Dom said the same sort of things. But... you're _in_ sports. They couldn't say the same things to you. I just don't get it."

Erik sighed heavily again. "They didn't say those kinds of things to me. While they were hauling me off, and all the time they were beating on me, they were swearing, calling me names, telling me I didn't have the right to play sports or hang around with 'real men'."

The boys thought this over for a moment, and it was Alan's eyes that grew wide at the possible implications. He fidgeted for a moment, then asked softly, "What names did they call you, Erik?"

"Queer. Homo. Fag. Pervert. Freak. I can't remember them all." Erik's gaze rested on Alan; their eyes meeting as he said, "They beat up on me because they thought I was gay."

_

* * *

What does Alan think of Erik's revelation? What will Fermat say to Mr. Trumbull? Will Alan get his new shoes? Will Alan sway the Bertolis? And will the mystery assailants strike again? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	34. Unencouraging News

_Author's note: _The question about Erik answered. Fermat meets Mr. Trumbull again. And somewhere between all that, a rescue begins! Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and keeping me on track.

_Special note:_ It's quite true that a high speed commuter rail is planned to link Pretoria and Johannesburg in time for the 2010 World Cup – but I doubt it's going to be a maglev train. And I'm calling Pretoria by the name "Tshwane-Pretoria" because there's a vote of some sort in the works this year (2006) to change the city's name to "Tshwane". It hasn't happened as of this writing, and looks to be a rather messy debate, so I'm pretending that they'll come up with a compromise. And just to clarify: Pretoria is the administrative capital city and considered South Africa's actual capital. However, Bloemfontein is the judicial capital, and Cape Town is the legislative one. All three cities play important roles in the governing of South Africa. (Don't you just love Wikipedia?)

And, since people have asked, here's the pizza theorem:

_If a circular pizza is divided into 8, 12, 16, ... slices by making cuts at equal angles from an arbitrary point, then the sums of the areas of alternate slices are equal._

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Xavion shook his head. "That takes this mess to a whole new level. Now we're talking hate crime." 

"Yeah. That's what the police said," Erik said quietly. He glanced over at Zave and Kay. "Uh, can I have a word with Alan, alone?"

The brothers exchanged puzzled looks, then turned to Alan, who shrugged slightly. "It's okay with me," he told them.

"Okay," Zave said. "C'mon, Kay." The brothers stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

"I – I wasn't sure if... I didn't know... uh, I thought you might possibly be... gay," Erik stammered, looking down at his feet, not meeting Alan's. "And I didn't know if they knew..."

Alan blinked several times, his mouth open in shock. "You... you actually still think I am... that way? Even after I told you..."

Erik shrugged, and winced, interrupting Alan. "I know you told me before that you weren't, but I wasn't _certain_. I thought maybe you said that just in case someone was listening." He raised his eyes to meet Alan's again. "Are you?"

The question caught Alan off-guard. "No!" he cried, shaking his head emphatically. "I'm not!" The quick denial seemed to surprise Erik for a split second, then he looked disappointed. Alan noticed this and asked quietly, "Are you... gay, Erik?"

The freshman sighed. "I think so. It's kinda hard to know for sure; I mean, I'm only fourteen. I haven't exactly had any... experience or anything." He looked off toward the window. "When I heard that you were, I thought – I hoped that maybe you'd be..."

"Your boyfriend?" Alan asked, his voice nearly squeaking.

"No! Not that!" Erik turned back to Alan an exasperated expression on his bruised face. "Not a boyfriend. Just a... a friend. Someone I could talk to about things – about 'it'."

"Oh." Alan blew out a relieved breath. He smiled slightly, a rueful expression. "I'm afraid that Fermat and me being gay was just a _rumor_. Not true at all! It's a long story; the short version is that I made someone mad and he thought that spreading the rumor I was gay would be a way to get back at me."

"I see." Erik still seemed disappointed.

"Hey, we still would have been teammates... and friends, too," Alan said. "I think so, anyway. Once I got over the initial shock, and realized that you weren't interested in me.. that way..." He suddenly shook his head, exasperated with himself. "Hell, I'm not really sure how I would have reacted if you'd approached me, but I'd like to think I could look beyond... 'it' and be your friend." He gazed Erik, frowning. "Who did you tell about this? I mean, somebody had to know."

"That's what the police asked," Erik said, shaking his head carefully. "But I can't think of anyone, not at Wharton. Only a couple of my close friends know, and now, my mom. She hasn't told my step-father, and I hope she doesn't. We clash enough without adding this to it."

Alan snorted a laugh. "I know what it's like to clash with my dad."

"Yeah?" Erik stopped for a moment, then added, a touch of bitterness to his voice, "But he's your dad, your real dad. Not someone pretending."

Alan didn't have an answer to this. _How would I have felt if Dad had remarried? I don't suppose it would have mattered much when I was little; I don't remember Mom very well. But now? What if he remarried now? And what if it were... Lady Penelope?_ He stopped those thoughts right there, shook his head, then asked, "Do you mind if I let Zave and Kay back in?"

"No, I don't mind, but... please, don't tell them about 'it'." Erik sounded as if he was pleading.

"They're going to ask," Alan told him.

"I know, but they really don't have to know. Please, Alan. Promise me you'll keep it secret?"

Alan took in a deep breath, and nodded. "I won't tell."

Erik relaxed, sitting back against the upraised mattress. "Thanks. Go ahead and let them in."

Getting up, Alan opened the door, and not only did Xavion and Qaeshon come in, but so did Mrs. Sanford. "Have you had a good talk, son?" she asked. "I called Colin; he and Keith have your things packed. They'll be here in a little bit."

"Yeah, we've had a good talk," Erik said.

"But, uh, I think we'd better get going," Alan said, standing up. "Still have that shopping to do, and I'm getting hungry for lunch." He ignored Kay and Zave's identical frowns, and held out his hand to Mrs. Sanford. "Nice to have met you, ma'am." Turning to Erik, he said, "You take care, and we'll try to keep in touch, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Erik said. "Zave, Kay, thanks for stopping by."

"Uh, sure, Erik," Xavion said, looking confused. "We'll miss you on the team."

"Hope you get better soon," Qaeshon said, reaching for Erik's good hand and shaking it firmly. He offered his hand to Mrs. Sanford, saying, "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sanford."

"Thank you, boys," she said with a smile. "I hope you'll keep in touch with Erik. Maybe he'll be back at Wharton next year."

"Sooner, I hope," Erik said firmly. "Once the police catch these creeps."

His mother gave him a warning look, and the trio took that as a cue to leave. None of them spoke until they were back in Xavion's car.

"Well?" Kay demanded.

"Well what?" Alan replied.

"Is he or isn't he?"

Alan didn't pretend to not understand, but stopped to think carefully about his answer. Finally he said, "Listen. Whether Erik is gay or not isn't the point. The point is that whoever attacked him _thought_ he was. And Erik felt it was important that I be on my guard, knowing that people are saying that Fermat and I _are_ gay." He sighed. "He just wanted to make sure that I was comfortable talking about what happened, that's all."

Zave looked over his shoulder at Alan, an incredulous expression on his face. "Erik actually thought you were gay?"

"He wasn't sure," Alan said. "Now he knows I'm not."

Shaking his head, Zave turned back, fastened his seatbelt, and started the car. "Okay, where to next?"

"Is there a mall? We can shop and eat lunch there," Alan suggested.

"Good idea," Xavion said. "The mall it is."

xxxx

The six o'clock commuter train from Tshwane-Pretoria to Johannesburg and points south left on schedule, its magnetic levitation technology causing the two cars to float above the track, and allowing the train to move at a high speed from one point to the other. Built to relieve some of the traffic congestion foreseen for the 2010 World Cup games, the maglev commuter rail had been a boon to both business and government, and it had been recently extended as far as Bloemfontein, the judicial capital, with a completed spur from there to Kimberley. Another branch was under construction, which would eventually link the administrative capital – Tshwane-Pretoria - to the legislative city of Cape Town. When complete, one could travel non-stop from one end to the other in roughly three hours and it would be the longest maglev line in the world. The trip to nearby Johannesburg, however, took less than 20 minutes.

This particular train usually had four sections to it, sleek and streamlined for maximum speed. It used a combination of state-of-the-art maglev technologies. Supercooled electromagnets raised the cars a full four inches off the single rail, while the base of the cars wrapped loosely around it, guaranteeing safety from derailment. There were no wheels here, just the electromagnets and a set of permanent magnets in the cars themselves. Every system was redundant, and seemed virtually accident-proof.

From the control tower, located at the station in Tshwane-Pretoria, the electronic order went out for the train to start. Radio masts along the route transmitted signals from the control room to the train itself, while fiber optic lines carried instructions to the actual rail line, controlling switches and turning the electromagnets on or off. The system had been working with very few glitches since its inauguration in 2010.

But tonight was different. A former rail line employee, one with a deep-seated grudge, had hacked into the computer system at the control center and dumped a nasty virus into the software. The malware took time to filter through the system, but when the six o'clock train left the station, it carried a virtual passenger: the virus, tucked securely in its onboard computer. The malware that had infected the control center started to send out erroneous signals along that track, while the bits aboard the train itself overwrote the onboard software, keeping the train moving, accelerating it to near maximum speed, and making it impossible to stop. Sensor readings along the line were affected; everything read as normal, when, in fact, there was something terribly wrong. It would take a good twenty minutes, when the train reached then blew by the Johannesburg station, for anyone to discover that there was a problem.

The immediate response was to try shutting down the train from the control center. But it soon became apparent what the problem was, and that the system would require rebooting at the very least. Even so, that measure would not clear the infected onboard software. There was a call to shut down the power on the line, and a scramble to get in touch with the officials responsible for the various sections of South Africa's power grid. A good deal of bureaucratic red tape, and a general sense of disbelief slowed down the response there. As a result, by the time one part of the grid had accepted the necessity, the train was beyond it. There was also talk of diverting the train to Kimberley once it reached the judicial capital, but it became clear that the train would not accept the orders to divert.

"The line beyond Bloemfontein is open as far as De Aar," the head of the railway told his people in an emergency meeting. "We must try to stop it before it gets beyond that point."

"Won't the train stop once it reaches the portions of the track that aren't open?" someone asked.

"There's been testing going on all along the completed parts of the line, including those that aren't open for use yet," said the head engineer. "This virus has activated as much of the line as has been tested. When the train runs out of powered rail, there will no longer be any levitation. The cars will drop to the rail and friction will take over, but according to our calculations, the friction will not be enough to halt the train's momentum. It will still be moving fast enough to slide over the unfinished end."

"What can we do?" the IT supervisor asked. "There must be something!"

The head of the railway moistened his lips. "There is one organization that may be able to stop the train manually. We must call International Rescue."

xxxx

A.J. came back from breakfast just as Fermat was readying for lunch. Mr. Trumbull came into the room with his son, each carrying a suitcase, and they were followed by a chauffeur laden down with a number of empty plastic totes.

Mr. Trumbull smiled when he saw Fermat. "Oh, hello there, young Mr. Hackensack..."

"Hackenbacker," Fermat and A.J. said in unison.

"Ah, yes. Hackenbacker." Mr. Trumbull's smile faltered a bit. "How are you today?"

"F-Fine, sir," Fermat answered politely.

"And how did your quiz team do yesterday evening?"

"We w-won, sir."

Mr. Trumbull's smile returned in full force. "Excellent!" He turned to his son. "Perhaps your next school will have need of someone with your intellectual capabilities, Andrew."

"You know I'd rather sing, Father," Andrew answered sullenly. He motioned to an empty spot along the wall between the door to the room and the door to the bathroom. "You can put those over there, Reynolds."

"Yes, Master Andrew." The chauffeur did as he was told, and set the totes down.

"Andrew tells me that you are staying here at school," Mr. Trumbull said, turning back to Fermat.

"Yes, s-sir, I am." Fermat replied, smiling. "My father and I d-discussed it and we felt it was a-all right for me to stay... provided I am c-careful."

"Hm." Mr. Trumbull rubbed his smooth chin. "Of course, you are much older than my Andrew here..."

"Actually, sir, I'm n-not," Fermat said. "He's tw-twelve and I'm th-thirteen. This is my s-second year at Wh-Wharton."

"Really?" Mr. Trumbull frowned. "And your father is letting you stay? Even with a broken arm?"

"Yes, sir." Fermat bristled a bit. It galled him to hear his father's decision questioned, even in such an oblique manner. "He t-trusts me to be c-careful, and I have fr-friends to help me. We w-watch each other's b-backs."

"It's a pity they couldn't have kept you from breaking your arm," Mr. Trumbull said, his voice indicating that he didn't approve of Fermat's plain speaking.

"I _told_ you, Father," Andrew piped up irritably. "He broke his arm because I was a being a jerk and made him take the top bunk when he told me he needed the bottom one. Just drop it, please?"

Mr. Trumbull gave his son a quelling glare. "I remember what you said, Andrew." He paused and took a breath to recover his equilibrium. "Well, I have to go and fill out the paperwork, then I have some calls to make. You need to pack up your things, and be ready to go by five. I'll be back then to get you." He nodded to the chauffeur. "Reynolds, the car."

"Yes, sir."

The chauffeur left, and Mr. Trumbull made ready to follow. Glancing back at Fermat, he said, "It was nice to meet you, Fermat. Thank you for putting up with Andrew for the past two weeks."

"It wasn't hard, sir," Fermat replied. He paused, then added. "Uh, Mr. Trumbull?" When the man nodded, he continued. "Please reconsider your d-decision. I'm sure the p-police will catch these hoodlums soon, and... my friends and I will miss A.J. - I m-mean, Andrew. He's become p-part of our group. We can watch h-his back, too."

"I am sorry, Fermat, but I don't have much faith in the police. A result of my work, I'm afraid," Mr. Trumbull replied. "And I really feel it would be safer for him to be with me, his new friends notwithstanding." He paused at the door. "I will return soon, Andrew. You may say your goodbyes then."

The door closed behind him, and A.J. swore. "Damn. I hoped you could persuade him."

"I h-hoped so, too, but I also f-figured he wouldn't l-listen to a k-kid." Fermat shrugged, then gave his roommate a small frown. "Y'know, you c-could have been less sn-snarky to him. He's d-doing what he thinks is b-best."

A.J. flopped into his desk chair. "I know, but it's always been what _he_ thinks is best for me, whether I like it or not." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "He thinks it's best that I go to boarding school, so he can be free to do what he pleases. He thinks it's best for me to spend my summers at camp, so he doesn't have to keep an eye on me. He doesn't know me, Fermat... and I don't think he wants to."

Fermat nodded. "I can s-see your p-point, A.J., but I've g-got to admit, you s-sounded like a sp-spoiled brat when you were t-talking to him."

A.J. opened his mouth to protest, then stopped and cocked his head. "Did I?"

"Y-Yeah," Fermat said, nodding. "You did." He paused again, and said, more slowly, "My d-dad once told me that it's his job to d-do what he feels is b-best for me, even if I d-disagree. That he's tr-trying to k-keep me from getting hurt... and from m-making the same mistakes he m-made." He shrugged again. "It d-doesn't sound fair, but that's the way things a-are."

"But your dad listens to you," A.J. said. "Mine doesn't."

"If m-my dad didn't think I c-could be careful, he'd have pulled me out, too, regardless of what Alan's d-doing... and regardless of my own f-feelings," Fermat said firmly. "He still might, if things e-escalate." He leaned forward, and fixed his roommate with a keen gaze. "One thing I've learned is that if I t-talk to my dad the way I'd like him to t-t-t... speak to me, he listens better. When I wh-whine, it's like he can't hear past the t-tone."

"I think I understand what you're saying," A.J. replied. He slumped his chair. "But I don't think it's going to work in this case. My Dad's already got his mind made up."

"Hmm." Fermat rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We st-still have one more chance."

"What's that?"

"Alan."

A.J. rolled his eyes. "You really think my father would listen to him?"

"Nothing v-ventured, nothing g-gained," Fermat said, winking at A.J.

The younger boy laughed. "All right. I'll let Alan have a go at him." He glanced around the room. "In the meantime, I guess I'd better be the obedient son, and start packing my stuff."

"I'll g-give you a hand," Fermat said, then he chuckled. "Since**_ a _**hand is all I can give."

"Oogh," A.J. groaned, shaking his head. Then he pulled out the first plastic tote.

xxxx

"What do you have for us, John?" Jeff said as he sat down at the command and control center. His hair was ruffled, and he was wearing his threadbare bathrobe. Scott and Gordon came in, looking every bit as disheveled, with Virgil bringing up the rear, yawning, his tuft of hair sticking out five ways to Sunday.

John, too, looked like he'd just woken up, his bright blond waves askew. "The maglev train line from Pretoria to points south has been sabotaged by a virus. The locals are trying to track down the hacker," he glanced up, as did the others, as Brains entered the room, "but between the malware in the control center systems and what's in the train itself, they don't think they can stop the train before it runs off the track, somewhere between De Aar and Cape Town."

"F-A-B. Let them know we're on our way." Jeff glanced at his boys, and his eyes narrowed. "I think we may need a bit more brain power on this one. Scott, get moving... and take Brains with you."

"M-Me?" Brains asked, incredulous.

"Yes, you. Bring whatever you need to help clear this malware from the train and the control center," Jeff said. He glanced up at John again. "Get the locals to upload their original programming specs and the infected stuff... but make sure you isolate it! Put it on a separate hard drive if you need to. If Brains needs anything else, he'll tell you."

Scott was already in his alcove, but Brains was rooted to the spot, blinking. "Well?" Jeff said, a touch of amusement in his voice. "This is right up your alley, Brains. Get to it, man!"

That seemed to break the spell. "R-R... F-A-B," he said as he strode across the room, his robe fluttering behind him, to join a grinning Scott.

"Virgil, make sure you have the pod with the extra strength grabs. I'm not sure what else you should take; none of our equipment is built for this kind of specialized work."

"Maybe the collision stoppers?" Gordon suggested.

"Yes, those might work." The devices that Gordon mentioned were flat, rectangular pads that, when activated, filled nearly instantaneously with a rubbery foam, the consistency of a thick, whipped jell-o. They were designed to cushion falling objects and could act as airbags or flotation devices. "Bring as many as you can. You can set up barriers to try and slow the train down if necessary."

Gordon nodded. He and Virgil took their places, and Jeff pressed a button, saying firmly, "Thunderbirds are go."

_

* * *

Can the Thunderbirds stop the train? Will Alan get his new shoes? Can he sway the Bertolis **and **Mr. Trumbull? And will the mystery assailants strike again? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	35. Unusual Heroes

_Author's note: _The rescue is in full swing. Brains checks his facts. Alan goes shopping, and meets Dom's parents. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and being a sounding board. I hope the computer stuff sounds okay; I'm really not that well versed in it.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"I n-never thought I'd b-be wearing this," Brains said as he slipped a finger inside his uniform's stiff collar. 

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Scott said, grinning.

"Y-Yeah, I guess s-s-s... I agree."

Brains turned back to the laptop he'd brought along, trying to focus his mind on the problem at hand. Even though he wasn't considered an active operative, provisions had been made for him should he have to go out on a rescue. He owned uniforms with blue, green, red, and gold trim, one for each of the the Thunderbirds that he might have occasion to serve on. He'd worn the green and red ones at least once before, but not the blue or the gold. Though he had spent many hours on Five, it was as an engineer, not as space monitor. And, until today, he'd never been sent out with Scott in One to act as on-site consultant.

John had acquired and downloaded both the corrupted operating system, and the pristine versions for both the main control system, and the system that ran the train. They now lay in separate jump drives attached to the laptop, accessible to Brains with only a pointer's click, but isolated from both each other, and the computer's own operating system. Brains's goal was to determine how the virus worked and try to extrapolate what exactly it would corrupt in the train's guidance so he could build a "anti-viral injection", a program that would overwrite the virus, and keep overwriting it should the malware have some nasty, self-replicating surprises tucked away.

_Whatever I do, it has to be something that will work fast enough to allow for the rebooting and reloading of the train's software,_ he thought as he compared one set of commands with its corrupted counterpart.

Scott glanced at him once as the genius fell silent, the only sounds the tapping of keys and an occasional whispered mutter, barely audible over the white-noise roar of Thunderbird One's engines. Then he turned back to flying his baby, and giving an update. "Base from Thunderbird One. ETA to Bloemfontein, 7:10 p.m., local time."

"F-A-B," Jeff replied.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Five." John's concerned face popped up, splitting Scott's comm screen in half. "Bloemfontein station reported that a helicopter spotter says the train should be passing the station there within the next ten minutes."

"We'll b-be five minutes l-late," Brains said without looking up.

"How much more track until derailment?" Scott asked.

"213 miles," John replied. "At top speed, that's..."

"Less than an hour," Scott said sourly.

"Forty-seven point four minutes," Brains corrected automatically.

Scott glanced at Brains again, then back to John. "What's Virgil's ETA?"

John shook his head. "Still more than an hour behind you."

"Damn." Scott glanced over at Brains once more. "Looks like it's up to us."

xxxx

Fermat was busy catching up with his pre-engineering homework. Because he'd been questioned again by the police after the first class hour was up Friday, he'd missed his second hour class entirely. Mr. Feng had been understanding and had emailed the assignment so that Fermat could work on it over the weekend. It was a tough review of the material they'd learned so far, something that most students who'd missed Friday's class would have difficulty doing with any precision. But the sophomore had an advantage over most students: his father, who had already taught him the practical applications of what he was studying.

He was roughly halfway through when an IM box popped up on his screen. The person on the other end was tagged as "TotallyCerebral", and Fermat rolled his eyes.

"Hey, son. Got a minute?" appeared in the box.

Fermat saved his work, and replied, typing, "Sure, Dad. What's up?"

"I need an extra pair of eyes on this, and there's a tight deadline." An file transfer was requested, and Brains warned, "Put it on a jump drive or something. Don't let it loose."

"OK." Fermat rummaged around in his desk drawer, finally coming up with the largest of his jump drives. He changed the default destination of the file transfer, then clicked "okay".

"What are you trying to do here?" he asked his father.

"Trying to stop a train. The controlling software is corrupted by a virus."

"Can't you wipe the operating system and reload?" Fermat asked.

"Not enough time. Plus, the command would have to be triggered from afar, and that computer's compromised, too."

"Hmm," Fermat said to himself as he looked over the programs. He made sure the IM box was mostly covered by his work window. He didn't exactly know what his father was working on, but since his father wasn't being open about it, he deduced it had something to do with IR. He highlighted a portion of the larger program, one that seemed to deal with the "stop" that his father mentioned.

"I think that a minimalist approach is called for here," Fermat finally typed. "Overwrite the OS with just enough code to get whatever it is to do what you want it to do: stop. Bypass the whole triggering business; write the actual command into the reboot. Or, if you've got to do any triggering, do it from the sky eye."

An emoticon came up; a smiley with glasses, one of Fermat's favorites. "That's what I thought, but I wanted confirmation. Great minds, eh? Thanks, son. Talk to you soon."

"Talk to you later, Dad," Fermat typed, smiling. "Glad to help out."

"Bye for now." The IM box signed off, and Fermat sighed.

"What's wrong?" A.J. said, coming out of the bathroom with his toiletries just in time to hear his roommate's sigh.

"N-Nothing," Fermat replied. "Just a c-c-c-c... talking to my d-dad online."

xxxx

Jamal watched as three teenaged boys, two black and one white, came into the sports footwear shop, glancing around. The tallest one made a beeline for the running shoes; the blond and the shorter black boy followed. They stood in front of the display, talking, glancing over the types of shoes available. The tall one motioned over to where the cleats were on display, and the blond nodded. Jamal carefully scrutinized each teen, checking clothing, attitude, fitness, and basically trying to evaluate if they were going to be worth his time.

_Hmm. They all look like they could be athletes, but none of them are wearing the big name brand clothes. Probably just some kids from town, checking out the latest shoes. I'll be surprised if I make a sale. _Finally he approached the trio, and using a tone that implied he thought they were just browsing, he asked, "Can I help you, boys?"

To his surprise, the blond said, "Yeah, you can. I need some shoes for track." He pointed out three of the display shoes, glancing over at the tall black kid for confirmation. "These three to start with."

Jamal smiled a little; what the blond had chosen were some of the more expensive shoes. "Okay. Have a seat and let's see what size you take."

Both of the other boys excused themselves, telling the blond where in the mall they'd be. The blond bid them farewell, saying he'd catch up with them later.

Jamal looked up from where he was measuring the teen for size. "What's your name?"

"Alan. Alan Tracy."

"Okay, Alan. I'll go see if we have these shoes in your size."

And for the next hour and a half, that's what he did. Alan would try on a pair, walk around in it, then tell Jamal yes or no. At least three pairs in four were rejected, sending Jamal scurrying back to the stock room for another style, a different size, or another color. Boxes with shoes that had approval were stacked to one side. By the time the other two boys returned, Jamal had roped one of his fellow salesmen into helping him return the unwanted shoes, trying to speed up the decision-making process. He had the sneaking suspicion that after all this work, he wasn't going to make a sale at all.

"Hey, Alan," the taller boy said as he came up to them. "You said you wanted to be back by three. It's two-thirty now."

"Is it?" Alan glanced at his own watch. "Damn. I was hoping to check out some of the other stores." He looked at Jamal, then back at his friend, and sighed. "I guess I'd better check out if I want to get back to see Dom's folks."

He waved a hand at the six boxes that sat in an awkward stack beside him. "I guess I'll take them all."

Jamal's face lit up with delight. "All of them?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. All of them."

"Okay," Jamal said, rising to his feet. He took three of the boxes, handing the other three off to his co-worker and the small group headed over to the cash register. As Jamal rang up the shoes, Alan pulled out his wallet, extracting a credit card and an ID card as well. He handed them over to Jamal, who glanced at them both and frowned. The credit card was a high limit one, and had Alan's name imprinted on it, but the ID card was his passport. "Do you have a local driver's license?"

Alan shook his head. "No. I don't live locally, except when I'm at school." He fished around in his jacket pocket, where he had stashed his Wharton ID, and handed that over, too.

All three of the identification cards had Alan's name and photo on them, so Jamal processed the transaction. "I'll need your thumb print before the computer will accept the card," he said, slightly apologetic. _Watch. This guy has phony IDs and he won't give me the thumb print._

But the salesman was wrong. Alan said, "Sure. No problem," and pressed his right thumb up to the small scanner that Jamal held out. The computer seemed to think for a moment, then the word "approved" showed up on the screen, and Jamal smiled widely.

He handed over Alan's IDs and credit card, then held out a data pad and stylus. "Please sign here," he said, pointing to a box that had obviously used many times before. Alan signed his name, and the transaction was complete. .

Alan grinned. "Thanks for your help," he said, hefting the bags that held his purchases.

"You're welcome," Jamal replied. "Come again."

The three boys left, laden down with their purchases, Alan more so than the other two. Jamal folded his arms and smiled with satisfaction.

His co-worker nudged him. "I didn't think he'd buy anything, never mind as much as he did. Mostly these kids come in here and just eat up our time."

"Yeah, well, once in a while you get a surprise," Jamal replied.

xxxx

"Th-Thunderbird Five from B-Brains."

"Go ahead, Brains," John replied.

"H-How high from the ground is the rail at its c-current terminus?" Brains was keying in the code for his stop-gap anti-viral as fast as he could, but he was afraid that they'd be too late.

"Let me find out," John replied. He shifted position to another screen, talking with someone that neither Brains nor Scott could see.

"There's the train," Scott said quietly. Indeed, the four cars moved steadily along the white concrete ribbon of rail. They had already passed Bloemfontein, and the time was pressing. Brains didn't even look up, didn't even respond when Scott dropped his speed to keep from overshooting the train.

"The rail is fifteen meters up at that point, with two supply pylons already built beyond it. The pylons are spaced at 25 meters apart at that point." John came back with his answer. "And before you ask, each section is 20 meters long."

"That means the first two sections would derail. There's a chance that the last two wouldn't," Scott said.

"The control center has already considered that, and have contacted the attendants by cell phone," John informed them. "They've moved as many passengers to the back two portions as they could, but they can't fit them all back there. And there are no seat belts, so even with the passengers at the back there are bound to be fatalities."

"There's no guarantee that all the cars won't go over the edge," Jeff said, his picture automatically enlarging to take up half the screen as he spoke. "The best thing for us to do is stop it before it gets to the end of the line."

Scott glanced back at Brains again. The genius's fingers were flying, and his eyes were glued to the screen of his laptop. The pilot looked back again at his commander and brother, and gave his head a little shake.

"Is there access to the train from the outside?" Brains suddenly asked, his stutter gone for the moment in his deep concentration. "Besides the regular doors?"

John checked a screen. The railway had been generous in their specifications. "Yes, each car has emergency hatches a quarter way toward the center from both the back and the front."

"Where is the onboard computer?"

"In the front." John read from a data pad in his hand. "There's a back up one located in what would be the rear of this train, but since the primary computer isn't actually down, the failsafe didn't transfer control."

"Where's Mr. Conductor when you need him?" Scott murmured. He glanced back at Brains again. "What's your plan?"

"One of us is going to have to get inside and manually reboot the computer." Brains was still concentrating hard, doing his best to get the program written in time. "I'm paring this down to a simple command: slow and stop. This should be uploaded during the reboot. It will override whatever the virus has commanded for as long as is needed to bring the train to a stop. Then, we cut power to the rail... if we haven't already reached the dead bit of track by then."

"How do we cut power?" Jeff asked. "We don't have access to the grid."

"John, I'm uploading a quick program that should restore control over the actual track." Brains had another window open. "Transfer it to the control center. They should be able to install it quickly and then cut power to the track down here. But it will have to be timed right. We have to have the train's system rebooted before they cut power."

"F-A-B," John said, moving to another screen and tapping a few keys. "I have the upload, Brains. Transferring to the control station now. "

Scott's eyebrows had climbed as he listened to Brains's plan. "Ooh-kay. Which one of us is going to do this reboot?"

Brains finally looked up at him, and sighed. "Y-You're b-better at flying this, uh, Bird. And T-Two won't g-get here in t-time. I g-guess I'm going."

xxxx

Alan nearly tripped over the boxes outside his dorm room door. _This doesn't look good._ He put one of his bags down and held his hand up to the scanner. The door slid open, and three people looked up in surprise as he stood in the opening.

He smiled. "Hey," he said, stepping inside. Quickly dropping the bags next to his desk, he turned to the man, who had risen from the box he was about to lift. Putting out his hand, he said, "You must be Mr. Bertoli. I'm Alan Tracy."

Alan could see where Dom got his dark, curly hair, proud nose and olive-toned skin. Mr. Bertoli was definitely of Italian descent; he was short but well-muscled, with broad shoulders in proportion to the rest of his trim frame. He looked tanned and fit, with a wide white smile that flashed as he took Alan's hand firmly, and shook it once.

"Frank Bertoli. This is my wife, Helena."

Mrs. Bertoli was slim, like her son, and had the same soft face. She held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Alan. Dominic has told us about you." She glanced down at her son, who sat on his bed, and gave Alan a pleading look as soon as her attention was turned from him.

"Likewise, ma'am," Alan said, shaking her hand. "I want to thank you for convincing Dom to let me move in with him. It got me out of a tough situation."

Mrs. Bertoli colored. "It was nothing, really. I just reminded Dominic about his own integrity, that's all."

"Seems she did it for nothing, too," said Mr. Bertoli with a thin smile, "since we're pulling Nick here out of Wharton." He gestured to Dominic, who glanced up at his father.

"Frank, I'm sure Alan will enjoy having a room to himself," Mrs. Bertoli replied, a touch too firmly, Alan thought.

Alan bounced up and down on the balls of his feet a little, his nervousness translating into familiar motion. He rubbed his hands together for a moment. "Uh, actually, sir, ma'am, I was really looking forward to Dom and me getting acquainted." He shrugged a little. "I'm used to having roommates; I've got four older brothers."

"Really?" Mr. Bertoli said, suddenly interested. "Dom tells us your father is Jeff Tracy, the retired astronaut."

"That's true, sir; he is." Alan pulled out his wallet and removed the picture he'd shown to his friends. He moved over to Mrs. Bertoli first. Mr. Bertoli joined them, and Dom got off the bed to view the picture. "See, there's my dad, and those are my older brothers. That's Fermat; he's my friend and goes to school here."

"He's awfully young," Mrs. Bertoli said, frowning slightly.

"Who's the girl?" Dom asked, finally breaking his silence.

"Her name's Tin-Tin," Alan said quickly. "Her mom and dad are our house and grounds keepers."

"Ah, I see." Mr. Bertoli smiled at Alan. "Nice family you've got there."

"Thank you, sir," Alan replied. He put the picture on his desk, and sat down, his feet still doing a slight tattoo on the floor.

"I understand that your father is letting you stay here at Wharton," Mr. Bertoli said, trying to sound casual. "Does he know what's going on?"

"Yes, sir, he does. He and I talked about it, and we decided together that I should stay here."

"Isn't he concerned?" Mrs. Bertoli asked.

Alan nodded. "Yeah, he is. In fact, he told me his first instinct was to come and get me. But he trusts me enough to ask my opinion." He paused to carefully consider his next words. "Y'see, if this had happened last year, I would have been jumping for joy and begging to go home. I really didn't like being here, so far from my family. But this year, things are different. There's so much more to do, more people to meet, more friends to make. I feel like..." His comment to Dom came to mind, and he smiled. "Like I'm my own person here. Not my dad's son, not the little brother. I'm Alan Tracy, and that's really cool."

There was a pause, then Mr. Bertoli said, "I think I like you, Alan. You've got a good head on your shoulders."

"Thank you, sir," Alan replied, looking sheepish and embarrassed. "Don't know that my brothers would agree..."

"It's very nice that your father is letting you stay, Alan," Mrs. Bertoli piped up. "But Dominic has a medical condition..."

"Mom!" Dom cried. Everyone's attention turned to him. "_I'm not made of glass_!" His voice dropped to a lower volume. "I won't... break."

Mrs. Bertoli stopped and glared at her son. "You were _assaulted, _Dominic, and it triggered an asthma attack that put you in the_ hospital_."

"For a few hours, Mom. Only until I got it under control," Dominic shot back.

"And he bounced back, Mrs. Bertoli. Bounced back really fast," Alan added.

Mrs. Bertoli shot him a similar glare, then Mr. Bertoli stepped in. He stood up and took his wife gently by the upper arms, saying softly, "Lena, you know we've made this decision without even consulting Nick. He's getting older; he's nearly seventeen. It's long past time we included him in decisions that affect him." He smiled at her. "I know you're worried about him and his asthma, but he's right, you know. He's not made of glass. He knows how to deal with the asthma. But he'll never learn to live on his own if we don't give him a chance to... to be his own person."

The two teens glanced at each other as the adults talked quietly, and Alan winked at Dom. "Tracy charm," he mouthed. Dom snorted an inaudible laugh.

xxxx

"Th-There!" Brains hit his last key with a decisive click. "N-Now to burn it to d-disk."

"We're running out of time here, Brains," Scott said tersely.

"I kn-know, Scott," Brains replied. "There! R-Ready to go." He glanced up at the pilot. "I h-hope you've figured out how to g-get me down there s-s-s... in one piece."

"Yes, I have. An attendant will open the emergency exit below us. I'll edge in, nose down so my VTOLs don't get in the way, and you'll have to transfer from the lower hatch, using line and harness. One's nose will provide some protection against gusts, but you'll have to be quick. The train is moving pretty fast, but I've got to slow way down to keep pace."

"F-A-B," Brains said. He tucked the disk in the pocket of his jumpsuit, and moved toward the lower hatch. "Let's d-d-do it."

_

* * *

Can Brains stop the train? Has Alan swayed the Bertolis? Can he bring Mr. Trumbull around? What will Jeff say when he gets Alan's shoe bill? Will the mystery assailants strike again? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	36. Undeniable Shocks

_Author's note: _The rescue wraps up, and Fermat has a ringside seat. The Bertolis make a decision. Alan meets Mr. Trumbull, and discovers something unexpected. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Brains gazed down out of Thunderbird One's lower hatch. The train's emergency exit was open, slightly to the rear of him, and warm light spilled from it into the night. It jogged a bit as the two vehicles sped on. What he could see of the floor below looked impossibly far away, even though he knew it was a mere few meters. He wore a helmet, covering his whole head, and a harness, attached to a strong line. The line would move with him, like a fishing line, and allow him to be brought back to the ship, if necessary. 

"Brains!" Scott's voice rang in his helmet. "We don't have much time!"

"F-A-A-A-B!" Brains said. With that, he took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and dropped.

xxxx

Someone knocked on the door to Fermat's room. A.J. opened it, and Jason, his face flushed, breathing hard, leaned inside.

"Hey, Brain! A.J.!" he called. "The Thunderbirds are on the vid! You have to come see this!"

"O-Okay," Fermat said, saving his work. "I'm c-coming." He glanced at his roommate, who shook his head sadly.

"Too much to do," A.J. explained. Fermat nodded, and followed Jason out.

"A.J.'s leaving?" Jason asked, puzzled.

Fermat gave him a quick frown, but it dissipated as he remembered that Jason hadn't been at breakfast. "Yeah, h-he is."

"That's too bad," Jason said as he led the way. "I'll miss the kid."

"M-Me, too," Fermat said with a nod.

They stepped into the common room, where the wide vid screen was showing scenes from an ongoing rescue. Several boys were there, sitting on the edges of their seats, exchanging comments in low tones. Jason and Fermat moved to one of the sofas, both so entranced by the images that they didn't dare look away to sit down. There was obviously some kind of aircraft trying to pace Thunderbird One and what looked like a fast-moving train. Lisa Lowe's voice could be heard, narrating from wherever she was.

"As you can see, Thunderbird One is hovering very close to the roof of the train, where one of the emergency exits is open. A hatch in Thunderbird One's belly has just opened, and... oh my God! One of the operatives has just jumped out! He's wavering a bit... now taking a step forward. Oh no! He's slipped and fallen into the train! It seems the wind pushed him..."

There were gasps of surprise or cries of horror from everyone in the room. Fermat sat down quite suddenly, and his face drained of all color. His eyes behind the glasses grew huge, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. Behind his hand, his lips mouthed the word, "D-Dad!"

xxxx

The instruments on Scott's panel indicated that the line had been severed. Scott swore then called, "Brains?" He paused, turning around. "Brains?" Not hearing a reply, he quickly called John. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One. I'm not getting any answer from Brains and his line has been severed. Did he make it to the train?"

"His communicator's GPS indicates he did, Scott." John's handsome face wore a puzzled frown. "Let me try to reach him."

Scott waited, antsy, hoping for the best, and fearing the worst. After what seemed to be a long pause, John came back.

"I can't raise him, Scott. The comm on his helmet might be out, but the GPS is still functioning, and that indicates he's on the train. He hasn't moved though."

"Damn," Scott muttered. "I can't hold this position any longer. Base, instructions?"

Jeff knew this was coming: the decision to leave Brains to whatever fate had decreed – or risk Thunderbird One and his son. "Move, Scott," he said. "If his GPS indicates he's aboard, we'll have to trust he is."

"F-A-B," Scott replied. He closed the hatch, and brought Thunderbird One's nose up, his VTOLs pushing him away from the train. He circled around, and came up beside the forward car, scanning it visually for signs of the scientist.

Meanwhile, on the train itself, Brains had picked himself off the floor. He had fallen through the emergency exit feet first, pushed by the winds. His helmet hit the edge of the hatch, but once inside his line tightened for a split second, stopping his momentum. Then it broke, spilling him to the floor. He bashed an arm on one of the seats, as he flailed out to try and break his fall. He lay half-dazed on the floor until he realized that someone was looking down at him. An attendant, the one who had opened the emergency exit, stood over him, a confused look on his dark face.

The attendant stepped around the fallen IR operative as the latter tried to stand, and offered a hand up, which Brains took. Once upright, Brains cradled his right arm; he'd hit his humerus on the seat, and it still buzzed with the painful jolt. He looked back and forth, and asked, "Ah, the, uh, computer?"

The attendant hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Th-Thank you," Brains replied, giving the man a little salute as they changed places, and he moved toward the front of the train. Behind him, the attendant shook his head, and closed the overhead door.

"C-Come in, Thunderbird One," Brains said as he made his way to the sloping nose of the car. "Th-Thunderbird One, do you, uh, read?" He tapped the side of his helmet, realizing belatedly that he could hear no static or white noise in his ears. _Comm must be down,_ he thought. _I guess I go this alone. But how am I going to coordinate things with the control center?_

He turned and flipped up the visor of his helmet. "Uh, sir?" he called to the attendant, who had finished his task and was heading back to the rear of the train.

The man turned around, a puzzled expression on his face. Brains beckoned to him, then turned to the control unit, pulling out a screwdriver and starting to remove the panel before him.

"You called me, sir?" The attendant was closer now.

"Y-Yes. Do you have a ph-phone?" Brains asked. "I f-fear I'm going to n-n-n... require one."

xxxx

Alan pulled his most worn pair of athletic shoes out of his closet, trying to make room for his six new pairs. He tried hard to look busy, but he couldn't help overhearing what Mr. Bertoli said as Frank worked on bringing his wife around to his way of thinking.

At long last, she took a deep breath, and said, "Okay, Frank. We won't take him home... right now."

Frank grinned, and drew her to him for a sweet hug. "Thanks, hon. I know how hard this is for you."

"Do you?" she asked sharply. She turned to Dom and, reaching out, stroked her son's face with a hand. "I'm not very happy about leaving you here, Dominic," she said quietly. "But your father has a point. We shouldn't have made this decision without consulting you." She smiled slightly and stroked his hair. "You're my baby, and I feel protective, more so because of the asthma. But," she sighed, her expression turning rueful, "you're growing older, and need to learn to make your own decisions... and mistakes." Putting her hands on his shoulders, she looked him in the eye. "Please promise me you'll be careful?"

Dom smiled. "I promise." He pulled his mother into his arms and hugged her, hard, then kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom," he murmured.

Alan had glanced up when Dom gave his promise, and now he looked firmly away, swallowing to keep the tears at bay.

xxxx

"Hey, Fermat. You okay?"

Fermat slowly became aware of Jason's voice, the murmurs of the other boys, and Lisa Lowe's running commentary as the rescue unfolded. His mind had been filled with horrible scenes; his father lying in the train, neck broken, or bleeding from some obscure wound... it was all he could do to slowly nod. He'd felt like his heart had stopped; his world had ended.

"I'm sure that he'll be okay, whoever he is," Jason went on, trying to reassure his suddenly shell-shocked friend. "The big question is, can they stop the train?" He squinted at the screen. "I don't see the big green thing there..."

"Thunderbird T-T-Two," Fermat automatically choked out.

"Heh. I knew that, Brain," Jason replied, looking relieved. "Just wanted to see you snap out of this... this shock. Sheesh! It's almost as if you knew the guy or something."

_But I do!_ part of Fermat wanted to scream. He _knew_ that lanky figure, even in the uniform and helmet. _I'd know him anywhere!_

"Hey, look!" one of the other watchers shouted. "He's okay!"

Fermat watched as the helicopter, or whatever it was that was trying to pace the train, changed position, coming level with the windows of the car and zooming in. There was a brief glimpse of silver and blue, and Fermat could hear Lisa Lowe over the cheers. "...Looks like the operative is up and ready to do his part in stopping this runaway train."

"Brain?" Jason became concerned as Fermat sagged back against the couch. "What's wrong with you, dude?"

"I w-w-was w-w-w-worried." Getting out the words was never harder, but the relief he felt was so sweet. His heart beat again, his world still turned, and he felt like a limp, wet noodle as he sent up a heartfelt "thank you" to whatever deity might be listening.

"You're really too into this Thunderbirds thing, man," Jason remarked, shaking his head. "You totally need to find another fandom."

xxxx

"Thunderbird One and Base from Thunderbird Five!" John looked agitated, but relieved.

"Thunderbird One here, go ahead," Scott replied tersely.

"Base here, Thunderbird Five. What's the word?" Jeff stopped his pacing and hurried over to command and control.

"Brains got through to the control center on a cell phone. He's a bit banged up, but okay. He's uploading his program right now."

The attendant, whose name was Seth, watched intently as the IR operative inserted a mini-disk into the drive of the inboard computer. "This sh-should work automatically," Brains murmured. He glanced up; they were still flying full tilt along the gray-white concrete rail. "Come on, b-baby, f-faster," he muttered under his breath.

Seth looked up, and put a hand on Brains's shoulder, and the engineer looked up. They were coming around a curve, they could see – much closer than they liked – faint outlines of the construction cranes that marked the end of the line.

"G-Go," Brains told the attendant.

"Come with me," Seth said, tugging on Brains's arm.

Brains shook his head. "Not until the j-job is done."

Seth protested. "If we derail..."

"I kn-know," was Brains's reply. He had his mouth open to say something else, when he felt a difference in the train's vibrations. The noise, too, had changed, and when he glanced at Seth, he could see that the attendant felt the difference, too. He turned and looked back out through the curved front window. "We're slowing! T-Tell control to c-cut power!"

Seth nodded, and shouted, "Cut power!" into his cell phone. A second later, the car they were in dropped suddenly, jarring their teeth. The noise changed again, from a whispering rush to a loud grinding noise as the electromagnets that kept the train levitated and those that moved it forward, suddenly ceased their activity. They were slowing at an increased rate now, bobbing back and forth as the train's bottom ground over the central concrete rail.

Brains motioned to Seth, shouting, "Go!" This time the attendant needed no further urging. He turned and ran as fast as he could toward the cars further back. The drop-off point was coming up fast. Brains found himself unable to look away as the train continued to slow. _Is it enough? Or too little, too late?_ Gloved fingers crossed, he closed his eyes tight... and the train ground to a noisy, shuddering halt. He stumbled a bit, thrown off balance, and as he fought to maintain his footing, he opened his eyes and gasped.

"Whoa."

All around him was open air. The train's headlights shone on the construction cranes, and the next, completed pylon.

He turned around. Through the windows, he could see the edges of the last part of the track. Roughly a third of the first car jutted out over the abyss.

A familiar engine's roar made him look back out through the front. Thunderbird One, gleaming in the headlight, hovered there before him. Scott was grinning, and gave him a sharp salute. Brains smiled back, and gave the pilot a limp wave.

Turning back to survey the car once again, he let out a long, relieved breath. "Now j-just how am I g-g-going to g-get out of here?"

xxxx

The loud cheering in the common room totally drowned out Lisa Lowe's commentary. The boys clapped, whistled, punched the air yelling, "Yes!", and generally shouted in triumph at another hair-breadth rescue pulled off by the Thunderbirds. All of which was lost on Fermat. The only thing he wanted to hear now was his father's voice, hear for himself that the most important person in his life was safe. He got to his feet and headed for his room, forgetting that Jason had been sitting next to him.

Jason, however, had a different idea. He saw Fermat leave, and hurried to catch up. "Hey, Fermat! Wasn't that awesome! They got the train stopped just in the nick of time! Man, that guy is a hero!"

Fermat stopped in the hallway, looking at his friend with disbelief. He wanted to shout, "That's my dad! He could have been killed!" But the hard fact that he'd be revealing something he was supposed to keep secret hit him like a brick. Instead, he took a deep breath to calm himself, and smiled widely.

"Y-You're right, J-Jase. That guy is a h-hero, a real hero."

xxxx

"That's the last one," Dom said, dusting off his hands. He, his father, and Alan had spent the last hour bringing Dom's boxes back into the room, unpacking them and putting Dom's things back where they belonged. Mrs. Bertoli had gone to the administration building to return the paperwork they had filled out, and to tell Mrs. Belvedere that her son would remain in school.

"The room looks pretty good," Mr. Bertoli said as he looked around, hands on hips. He grinned. "You two think you'll be able to get along?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. We will."

The door buzzer sounded, and Dom hurried to let his mother in.

"All done," she said. "You're still enrolled at Wharton."

"Great!" Dom said with a grin.

"Lena? Why don't we take these two out to dinner?" Mr. Bertoli suggested. "Spend some time with Nick, and get to know Alan a little better."

"That's a good idea," Mrs. Bertoli said. She turned to Alan. "What kind of food do you like, Alan?"

Alan's face had lit up at the suggestion, then it fell as he remembered his own restrictions. "I'd really like to go, but my father's got it set up that I have to be with family to go off campus... or have his permission." He motioned to the shoe boxes that were stacked near his desk. "I got his okay for the shoe shopping, but I'm afraid I couldn't get it again on such short notice." He shrugged a little. "I'm sorry. Thanks for invitation, though."

Mrs. Bertoli smiled softly. "You're welcome. I can understand your father's concern. Next time we'll plan things a little better so you can get permission ahead of time."

"Sounds good." Alan glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows went up. "Uh-oh." He rummaged around in his backpack, and pulled out his math book. "I promised a friend I'd bring him our math assignment. I'd better do that now." He offered his hand to Mrs. Bertoli, then to her husband. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Bertoli. I'm sure we'll see each other again."

"It was good to meet you, too, Alan," Mr. Bertoli replied. "You take care now."

"I will." Alan snagged his jacket, and left, turning back to say a final, "Bye!" before the door closed behind him.

xxxx

Alan fell in with a small group of other boys who were heading toward Maplewood. He knew one of them from his weight training class, and was introduced to the others. A couple of them gave him wary looks, which he ignored. Finally, he was at Fermat's door, and ringing the buzzer for admission.

The door slid open, and Alan hurried in. "Sorry I'm late, Fermat, but..." His voice trailed off as he realized he had walked in on... something. Fermat was nowhere to be seen, but A.J. was visible, sitting in his desk chair.

"Hi, Alan," A.J. replied, sounding down, giving the newcomer a half-hearted wave.

Alan gave him a warm smile and said, "Hey, A.J." He put his book down on his friend's desk, and asked, "Where's Fermat?"

A.J. shrugged. "He went off to make a phone call. Said he'd be back soon."

"Oh, okay." He motioned with his head to the man standing by the window, phone in hand, earpiece and mike in use. "Your dad?"

"Yeah, that's him." A.J. rose from his seat, and walked over to his father, trying to catch the man's eye and waiting for a break in the conversation. Alan came up behind him, ready for introductions.

Mr. Trumbull became aware of his son's presence, and lifted his head to nod, acknowledging that he'd seen A.J. His gaze drifted toward Alan's face, back to his phone, then quickly up again. Eyes widening with startled recognition, his conversation trailed off, then he looked down at the person he was talking to.

"Uh, Johannes? Something's just come up. I'll give you a call back in a little bit. Right. No problem. Talk to you soon." Ending his call, he pulled the earphone from his ear and asked tentatively, "Alan? Alan Tracy?"

A.J. glanced up at Alan with a confused frown, and Alan returned the look with a small shrug. "Yes, I'm Alan Tracy. You must be Mr. Trumbull." He held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Mr. Trumbull shook his hand, an amazed expression still on his face. "I didn't know you were here, at Wharton. The last I knew, you were at a school where you'd had an... incident."

Alan groaned. It seemed his checkered past was still haunting him. "Uh, yeah. I had an... incident at my former school. My father sent me to Wharton last year." His eyebrows knotted up in a perplexed expression. "Do I know you? I mean, personally?"

"Well..." Mr. Trumbull looked like he wanted to say something, then quickly changed his mind. He turned to his son. "Andrew, take your garment bag down to the car, please."

"But Dad...," the boy began.

"Now, son," Mr. Trumbull said firmly.

A.J. huffed out an exasperated "humph" then picked up his garment bag and slung it over his shoulder. It bumped against his calves as he stomped off.

As A.J. left, Mr. Trumbull speed-dialed a number on his phone. "Had to get Andrew out of the way for a few moments," he told Alan. "This isn't something for his ears."

"I don't get it," Alan said, shaking his head and frowning. "What's this all about?"

"You'll see in just a moment," Mr. Trumbull assured him. He put the phone to his ear, and waited a moment, then began to speak.

"Jeff? Art Trumbull here," he said. There was a pause, then Mr. Trumbull made a rueful face. "Damn, I'm sorry. Didn't know it would be a bad time. Can you spare a moment? Well, I'm at Wharton... yeah, Wharton. My son Andrew is here as a student. Yeah." He glanced over at Alan. "Well, I won't keep you long, but there's someone here who needs something explained to him." He held the phone out to Alan, who was surprised to see his father's face looking back at him.

"Dad?" Alan took the phone. "I came to see Fermat, and Mr. Trumbull here... well, he acts as if he knows me. But I don't know him, or if I've met him, I don't remember it."

Jeff sighed. "No, you wouldn't remember Art Trumbull, but he was an old friend of mine from the early days of the, uh, _family business_."

The stress that Jeff put on his words made Alan look at Mr. Trumbull in astonishment. "He... He knows?"

"Yes, Alan. He knows." Jeff smiled, amused. "When I was starting this _business_ of ours, I needed someone to keep an eye on all the legal ramifications. Art's an old friend, and the best international lawyer there is." He shifted in his seat. "Son, let me introduce you to IR Agent Fourteen."

_

* * *

Now that Alan knows about Mr. Trumbull, can he talk him into letting A.J. stay? What will Fermat have to say to his father? Will Alan get his math homework done? And what about those mystery assailants? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	37. Unforeseen Opportunity

_Author's note: _The aftermath of the rescue, and the reaction to Mr. Trumbull's identity. A partial answer to A.J.'s dilemma. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and to both her and Lillehafrue for being sounding boards.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Agent Fourteen?" Alan echoed, glancing over at Mr. Trumbull, who was grinning at him. "Whoa. That's a surprise!" His brow creased with a slight frown. "How many agents do we have, anyway?" 

"Enough to do the job," Jeff replied. "Listen, Alan. We're finishing up an operation here..."

"Operation!" Alan's eyes got wide. "What happened? Where'd you go?" He bounced up and down a bit in his excitement.

"I'll give you all the details later, once we've got things wrapped up properly. Right now, I want you to put Art back on the phone, and go find Fermat. He's called and left a couple of messages. It sounds like he needs your help right now."

"Okay, Dad," Alan said. "I'll find him. Will you call later?"

"I will, promise," Jeff replied. "Now, please do as I've asked."

"Right. Talk to you later, Dad." Alan smiled at his father's image, then handed the phone back to Mr. Trumbull. "Dad wants to talk to you. I've got to find Fermat."

"Thanks, Alan." Mr. Trumbull put the phone to his ear, so Alan could only make out one part of the conversation as before he left the room. "Jeff? Art here. I had no idea your boy was at Wharton..." The door shut, and Alan could hear no more.

"Now, if I were Fermat, and wanted to make a private call, where would I go?" Alan muttered. He thought hard about his friend, trying to remember if there had been any such situation the previous year, when they had been roommates. He honestly couldn't think of there having been one; there had been no need for secrecy or stealth between them. _I doubt he would have gone far,_ he reasoned. _He'd choose some place warm, some place deserted... the basement?_ He started off down the hall toward the emergency stairs. _I'll try there first._

He opened the door to the stairwell, letting it close slowly behind him, and started down the flight to the second floor, his new sneakers making a light, muffled patter on the stairs. He hadn't gotten halfway to the intermediate landing when he heard a soft croak from above.

"A-Alan?"

Alan stopped in his tracks, backed up a step, and looked upwards. There, on the landing to the roof access, was Fermat, gazing down, his face a pale mixture of concern and relief.

"Hey, Fermat." Alan reversed his direction, and joined his friend. "Dad told me to look for you," he said as he sat down beside the younger boy. "Said you'd left a couple of messages."

"Y-Yeah," Fermat slumped against the wall, his head back. "I c-couldn't get through to my d-dad, so I c-called yours. I must have s-sounded pretty d-d-d... frantic."

"Your dad's probably busy helping wrap up the rescue," Alan said gently. "He might not be able to break free right now."

"You know about the r-rescue?" Fermat asked, sounding perplexed.

"I know there was one, but nothing more than that," his friend admitted. "Still, I'm certain he was involved... he usually is in some way."

Fermat snorted a bitter laugh. "Y-Yeah, my d-dad was involved all right! H-He was the one who w-went down to the sp-speeding train and n-nearly got himself k-k-k-k..." He couldn't quite get the word out. "And I'm sitting b-back here, s-safe as houses, w-watching it all on the vid."

Alan's mouth dropped open. "Your father did _what_? To a speeding _train_? And you saw it on the _vid_?" He blinked, and his mouth worked, but the only thing that came out was, "Damn."

"E-E-Exactly," Fermat said. He gazed down at his phone. "I h-have no idea h-how he is. It looked like he f-f-f... slipped and fell into the t-train. The vid showed him g-getting up... and he s-stopped the train, but..." Fermat swallowed heavily. "He c-could have been... killed."

"Oh God, Fermat," Alan said, sliding an arm around his friend's shoulders. "I didn't expect that. I mean, no offense, but your dad _is_ more brains than brawn. He's usually at base, doing the scientific expert back-up thing. I had no idea he'd actually gone out on this one."

"It w-was a surprise to me, t-too," Fermat admitted. "He even c-consulted me about the s-software he was wr-writing. I d-didn't know he was on the scene."

"Consulted you?" Alan blinked again. "How?"

"Through i-instant messaging, from One, according to the v-vid." Fermat fidgeted a little, and gave a half-shrug. "L-Looked like Two h-hadn't even g-gotten there yet, and m-might not g-get there in time. I g-guess that's why he w-went."

Alan gave a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, I get antsy when Dad and the guys go out and I don't know what's going on. But actually _watching_ it on the vid? That takes worry to a new level." He screwed up his face in a puzzled expression. "But what I wanna know is how'd they get that vid? Scott's usually better about using the camera fogger."

"D-Don't know, and don't c-c-care," his friend said stubbornly. "All I w-want is to h-hear my dad's v-voice."

"Hey, I know how you feel, pal. I really do." Alan said softly, giving his friend's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"I know," Fermat murmured, leaning his head against Alan's shoulder. "You're the only o-one who does."

xxxx

"Thunderbird Two, Five, and Base from Thunderbird One," Scott said into his mike. "Stand down 2330 hours, local time."

"F-A-B." Three distinct voices – John's, Jeff's, and Virgil's - echoed through his speakers. He sat back against his seat, taking a moment to roll the tension from his shoulder muscles. Then he leaned forward again to program in his flight path home.

On Thunderbird Two, Virgil glanced over at Brains, who had been collected in the rescue basket once Two had towed the train - its levitation restored but its motion restricted – back to the still-under-construction station at De Aar. Ambulances had been standing by for any injured, and the rail company had made provisions for ground transportation from there to the Bloemfontein, Kimberly and Johannesburg stations.

Brains had politely refused an offer of medical assistance, preferring to rejoin his colleagues in the cargo carrier. To Virgil, he looked tired and pale, and alternated between massaging the back of his neck and one elbow.

_It's not often Brains gets hurt, but, right now, it looks like he is,_ Virgil thought, frowning. _I hope he doesn't get stubborn about it._ He was about to say something, when Gordon appeared, bringing with him a small cup of water, some coffee in a travel mug, and a large dose of aspirin.

"Here, Brains," Gordon said as he offered them to the engineer. "Good for what ails you."

"Th-Thank you, G-Gordon," Brains said, accepting the medication and drink. "I admit I'm f-feeling rather s-sore. I hit my h-humerus on the way into the t-train and it still feels like a t-tuning fork."

"We'll help you take a look at it when we get back to base," Virgil promised. "And your neck, too."

"Mm." Brains was busy swallowing the pills, washing them down with the water. Then he took a sip of the hot coffee. "Thank y-you, V-Virgil. I'm not qu-quite sure what I d-did there. Perhaps when I h-hit my head on the s-side of the emergency h-hatch..."

"Is that what knocked out your comm?" Gordon asked as he strapped himself in for the ride home.

"V-Very likely. I'll h-have to check the h-helmet over," Brains replied. He took another sip of coffee, slid off his glasses, then leaned his head back carefully and closed his eyes.

"I think Dad will insist on you resting for a few days," Virgil said firmly. "You're not used to this kind of hands-on action."

"T-Too true," Brains admitted freely, not opening his eyes. "But you kn-know what?"

"What?" Gordon asked, glancing over.

Brains smiled. "It f-felt d-damned _good._"

xxxx

Alan and Fermat headed back to Fermat's room. The younger boy looked and sounded more like himself, and he had been appropriately stunned when Alan brought him up to date on the drama that had gone down in his room just a little while before.

"An a-agent?" Fermat had stuttered in amazement. "That's... that's... m-mind boggling!"

"Yeah, I thought so, too," Alan had agreed with a grin. "I'll have to worm out of Dad exactly how many there are..."

"At l-least fourteen," Fermat replied as he opened the door from the stairwell to his hallway.

"Good point," Alan had stated, poking a finger at his friend as they stepped into the hall, and back into the world of secrecy.

Now Fermat buzzed his door, mindful of Mr. Trumbull's presence and not wanting to walk in on some father-son conversation – or argument. There was a shouted, "Come in!" and he opened the door.

A.J. ran up to Fermat, his eyes shining and a grin on his face. "Dad says I can stay!" he crowed. "Isn't that great?"

Before Fermat could respond, Mr. Trumbull spoke. "Only until next weekend, Andrew," he corrected. He glanced up at Alan. "Your father suggested I leave Andrew here for the moment. He told me he's coming out next weekend to see you compete, and he wants to talk with me then." He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "I still have to find another school that will take him; I can use the week to do that."

"That's great, Mr. Trumbull; I'm glad he's staying," Alan said, smiling. "Maybe by then the guys who've been doing this will be caught and A.J. - I mean, Andrew – won't have to change schools after all."

"Perhaps," Mr. Trumbull replied. He turned his attention to Fermat. "I had no idea that Andrew's roommate was son of the illustrious Professor Hackensack..."

"H-Hackenbacker," Fermat corrected automatically.

Mr. Trumbull's eyebrow flexed upward, as if he was going to be offended at the correction. Instead, he shook his head and sighed, a slightly frustrated sound. "My apologies. I have never been able to get my tongue around your last name. I will work on it."

"I, uh, would appreciate that, s-sir." Fermat nodded.

The man looked from Fermat, to Alan, then to his son. "What's this 'A.J.' business I've been hearing?"

"I told you, Dad," A.J. said with exaggerated patience. "It's a nickname they gave me. It stands for 'Andrew John'."

"That's right, sir. Everybody in our group has a nickname of one sort or another," Alan explained, smiling, his look a little sheepish. He hooked a thumb in Fermat's general direction. "Fermat here is The Brain."

"Y-Yeah," Fermat said, his face lighting up with a sly glee. "And A-Alan is Pinky."

Mr. Trumbull's expression had showed polite interest when Alan told him Fermat's nickname, but a slow smile, at once reminiscent and amused, crossed his face when Fermat spoke up. "Pinky and the Brain, huh? Planning on taking over the world, boys?"

Alan laughed out loud, and Fermat grinned. A.J. gazed at his father with disbelieving eyes. "You... you _know_ about Pinky and the Brain, Dad?"

"I haven't spent all my life surrounded by musty old law books, son," Mr. Trumbull said mildly, putting a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "You might be surprised at the things your old dad got up to when he was your age." He suddenly glanced at his watch. "Hmm. It's time for supper." He looked up at Alan and Fermat again. "Would you two like to come with us?"

Alan and Fermat looked at one another and shook their heads in unison. "W-We're sorry, but our f-fathers have it set up that w-we can only go off-campus with a f-family member or t-trusted friend," Fermat explained, his voice a little wistful.

"But thanks for the offer. We appreciate it," Alan said, trying to sound positive.

"Actually, boys, there's one more group of people who has permission to accompany you off-campus when necessary," Mr. Trumbull said with a grin. He glanced at Alan, one eyebrow quirking up, then down again in a conspiratorial manner. "The Tracy family lawyers... of which I am one."

"No! You're kidding!" Alan cried, his mouth gaping. "Dad never told me that!"

Mr. Trumbull shook his head. "I'm not kidding. There are a lot of people in line ahead of me and my firm when it comes to people who can take you off campus: your brothers, Fermat's dad, Lady Penelope, the Kyranos... we're more a last resort. But for once, I'm in the right place at the right time." He paused. "And I did run it by your dad as a possibility."

"H-How about m-me?" Fermat said.

"I'm on your list, too, Fermat," Mr. Trumbull replied. "Your father uses our firm as well, especially for patent issues."

"D-Did you get to s-s-s... talk to him?" Fermat asked hopefully.

"No, I didn't," was the sober response. "But Jeff assured me that your dad wouldn't object... and if there was an objection, he'd take the heat."

"So?" A.J. said, sounding impatient. "Have you finished explaining? Are we ready? Are we going?"

Alan and Fermat exchanged glances, and Fermat nodded. Alan said, "Sure, A.J., we'll come. Mr. Trumbull, we'd be happy to take you up on your offer."

"Well, then," Mr. Trumbull replied, smiling. He opened his phone. "Reynolds? We're heading out for dinner."

_

* * *

What will Fermat have to say to his father? Will the boys get their homework done? Did Scott mess up? Is Brains okay? And what about those mystery assailants? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	38. Understated Emotions

_Author's note: _Brains is treated, and calls Fermat. Fermat says goodbye to a teammate, and Alan learns something new about Dom. Jeff gets some unpleasant news from Penelope. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and for being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"So," Jeff asked. "What's the verdict?" He folded his arms, leaning back against the stainless steel counter in the sick room lab as Dr. Hatoshi, the local doctor, washed her hands after her examination of Brains. The lanky engineer came out of the examining room, his neck surrounded by a soft cervical collar. 

"Brains can tell you," the doctor said. "Technically, I'm not allowed to."

"Nothing is fr-fractured," Brains said firmly. "I th-think the n-neck pain is a sp-sprain."

Dr. Hatoshi gave the engineer a sharp look. "I disagree. True, nothing is broken, but I gave you my official diagnosis and I did _not_ use the word, 'sprain'."

"Care to tell me what the diagnosis was?" Jeff asked, turning to Brains.

Brains frowned at her. "M-Mild whiplash," he muttered. "And a b-bruised humerus."

Dr. Hatoshi was the family's main medical consultant; when someone was hurt and didn't need immediate attention at the rescue site, she was the one the Tracys turned to. If there was treatment on site that didn't require hospitalization – as in Gordon's case – then Jeff would let Brains oversee the patient's recovery at home. However, if recovery wasn't proceeding well, or when the injured party was Brains himself, Jeff insisted on a formal visit from the licensed physician. It meant sometimes getting creative with explanations for the various injuries they had, but living on a tropical island did have its share of dangers, and those usually were enough to produce a credible scenario.

Jeff sometimes wondered if he should confide in the doctor, perhaps make her an agent. As their physician, she _would_ have to keep everything confidential, but he could also see where she might find it difficult to reconcile his need for secrecy with hers for honest speaking and accurate record keeping. Not only that, she would most likely disapprove of the fact that his children were the ones pulling the freight in IR – especially in regards to Alan. It was an argument he wanted to avoid entirely. There was also her own personal safety to consider. If there was one thing that their last encounter with the Hood had taught Jeff, it was that _none_ of them were truly safe, not even those on the periphery. In the final analysis, it was better that she be kept in the dark, and safe, and let the lies come from his end.

"I've downloaded the scans to my office," she said as she packed up her doctor's bag. "I may have a radiologist look at them, too."

"There's n-nothing b-broken..." Brains began.

She held up a hand. "It's just a precaution, Hiram." She came up to him and stuck a warning finger into his face. "Now, make sure you do something about that bathtub! Put a non-slip surface on the bottom, or maybe a mat. I don't care what you do, just make it less dangerous!"

Jeff turned his chuckle into a discreet cough; the difference in height between Brains and the petite doctor was amusing, though it didn't make her any less imposing.

"You are to take it easy, wear the collar for the next week, and use that painkiller I prescribed," she went on. She glanced over at Jeff. "You heard me, Jeff. Light duty, collar... and fix the tub."

Jeff held up his hands in surrender. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a nod and a grin.

She turned back to Brains. "I haven't heard the same from you."

Brains frowned again, looking stubborn, and making Jeff think, _I do believe he's pouting!_ Then the injured man quickly stuttered, "Y-Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Dr. Hatoshi smiled. "I like it when my patients cooperate." She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She shook hands with Brains, and with Jeff.

"I'll walk you to your plane," Jeff offered.

"Thank you," she said with a gracious nod.

"I'm g-going to c-call F-F-F... my son," Brains muttered.

"Tell him 'hello' for me," she requested as Jeff ushered her from the sick room.

Brains sighed, and went off to find his phone. He reflexively tried sticking a finger into the cervical collar to loosen it. _This fits tighter than my uniform._

xxxx

By the time the boys returned to Wharton, it was getting late, and nearing curfew. Alan made arrangements to meet with Fermat the next day to do their math homework before Mr. Trumbull dropped him off in front of Birchwood. The chauffeured car stayed in place long enough to ensure that Alan made it safely into the building before moving on to Maplewood.

Before they left the campus, Mr. Trumbull had made his driver stop by the administration building to tell the staff of his decision to leave Andrew for another week. As he went in, he graciously held the door open for a woman and young man who were leaving – a young man that Fermat recognized.

"Th-That's Atif!" he told his companions. "He's on the qu-quiz team."

"Not anymore from the look of things," Alan said quietly.

"H-He did say his m-mother would probably pull him from the school," Fermat said, nodding.

As the pair walked by the car, Fermat started to lower the window, then thought better of it and stepped out instead. "Hi, Atif," he said.

"Oh, hello, Hackenbacker," Atif replied, stopping for a moment. He didn't look so much sad as resigned when he glanced at his mother. He made a motion with his hands toward Fermat. "Mother? This is Fermat Hackenbacker. He is on the academic quiz team. Fermat, my mother, Sarit El Helou."

Atif's mother held out a graceful hand. "It is a pleasure to meet one of my son's teammates," she said, her English accent impeccable.

"N-Nice to m-meet you, too, ma'am," Fermat responded, taking her hand and shaking it gently. He turned to Atif. "Does this mean y-you're leaving?"

"Yes," Atif said, nodding. "I am leaving, just as I said would happen." He looked at his mother again, who smiled slightly. "My mother could not abide my staying at a place where security is obviously so lax." He indicated the formal car with its tinted windows and the obvious driver. "And you? Are you leaving?"

Fermat shook his head. "No, my f-father says it's o-okay for me to stay, as long as I'm c-c-careful. Right now, my r-roommate's f-father is taking us to d-dinner."

"Then I will not keep you," Atif said. He held out his own hand and said formally, "It was good to know you, even for a short time."

"Likewise," Fermat said as they shook hands. "I h-hope that p-perhaps we'll m-meet again."

"Anything is possible," Atif's mother said quietly. She put a hand on her son's back. "We must go now."

Atif gave Fermat a small wave, which was returned, and he and his mother walked off towards the parking area. Fermat climbed back into the car, and they were joined a moment or two later by Mr. Trumbull.

"Well, that's settled," the man said, satisfaction in his tone. "Now where should we go for dinner?"

They chose the local franchise of a mid-priced restaurant chain as neither Alan nor Fermat were dressed for a fancier eatery. At the restaurant, when Fermat and A.J. had gone off on a postprandial restroom run, Alan took the opportunity to ask, "Does Andrew know about...?"

Mr. Trumbull shook his head and answered before Alan could finish. "No. I never told him that I worked for your father at all, but now that he knows I do, I'll be limiting that knowledge to my dealings with your father's more visible enterprises." He shrugged a bit. "Not that I'm allowed to tell him much anyway; client privilege and all that." There was a pause, then he asked, "Does Fermat know?"

The question took Alan by surprise; he never thought there'd be any doubt of Fermat's position. "Uh, yeah. He does." He smiled, spreading out his palms with a little shrugging motion of his own. "Kinda hard not to seeing as he lives on the island with us."

"Ah, I see. I wasn't sure if Fermat lived with his father or not," Mr. Trumbull said. His voice dropped as he gazed off in the direction of the restrooms. "Here they come."

Again, Alan was surprised by Mr. Trumbull's statement. It had never occurred to him that Fermat would, or even _could_, live anywhere else. He regarded the man with a slightly troubled expression, one which he dropped when Fermat asked, "Are you o-okay, Alan?"

"Oh! Yeah," Alan said, nodding and smiling at his friend as Fermat and A.J. sat down at the table again. "I'm fine."

"Who's up for dessert?" Mr. Trumbull asked jovially, and the meal went on from there.

Now Alan buzzed his own door, remembering that Dom's folks could still be visiting. He heard a shouted, "Come in!" from his roommate and entered the room.

"You didn't have to buzz," Dom said, a look of mild surprise on his face.

"Didn't know if your folks were still here," Alan explained. "Didn't want to interrupt anything."

"Ah, okay," Dom said, understanding. "They're still in town, but have gone to their hotel for the night. They'll pick me up so we can go to Mass together in the morning and are planning on heading home after lunch."

Alan was slightly confused by the mention of Mass; belatedly he remembered that it was what Catholics called their worship services. "Huh. I didn't know you were Catholic," he said as he hung up his jacket.

"Yeah, we are," Dom replied, nodding. "And just to let you know, I get up early on Sundays for Mass as a regular habit. The local parish sends a van over to pick up those few of us who are willing to go." He sat down at his desk, then looked up at Alan, a questioning expression on his face. "Do you go to church?"

The question made Alan stop for a moment. "No, I don't. We don't." He shrugged, then smiled. "Kinda hard to get to church when you live on an island."

"I remember you said you lived in the tropics, but... on an island?" Dom sounded surprised.

"Yeah, in the South Pacific. Nice place, but hard to get to the corner grocery," Alan replied with a wry chuckle.

"Sounds... exotic," Dom said, thinking hard to choose the most appropriate of the many adjectives that popped into his head.

That made Alan's chuckle into a full-grown guffaw. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. Exotic."

xxxx

The sounds of "Powerhouse" filled the air when Fermat, A.J., and Mr. Trumbull walked into the dorm room. "It's m-my dad," Fermat explained, hurrying over to his desk to pick up his phone. "I'll b-be back soon." He was out the door again before either of the Trumbulls could make a comment or protest. He flipped open the phone as he hustled down the hall, heading for the same quiet spot where he'd talked with Alan before.

"D-Dad?" he said, putting the phone to his ear. "H-Hold on. I'm finding a more p-private place so we can t-talk freely."

"O-Okay, son," Brains said. The sound of his father's voice, as tired as it was, made Fermat swallow hard, and he picked up the pace a little. Still, when he came to the stairwell door, he opened it quietly.

_No sense in advertising that anyone's in here,_ he reasoned as he shut it gently. Then he mounted the single flight to the empty landing and slid down, back to the wall, to sit on the warm wooden floor. He pulled out his earphone and plugged it in. "H-Hey, Dad."

"Are you r-r-ready to talk now?" Brains asked, sounding and looking concerned.

"Y-Yeah. I am, but I d-don't have long," Fermat responded. He frowned a bit. "Wh-What's that on your neck?"

"It's a c-c-c-c... neck brace," his father replied, rolling his eyes a bit. "I, uh, i-i-i-i... hurt myself."

"F-Falling into the t-train?"

There was a pause as Brains just looked at his son, blinking in shock. "Y-Y-You know?" When Fermat solemnly nodded, he asked, amazed, "H-How?"

"I s-saw it on the vid." The feeling of helplessness and anguish he'd experienced when he saw his father's fall threatened to overwhelm him again, and he swallowed hard to control himself. _He's okay. He's alive. He's okay._ He kept repeating it to himself like a mantra.

"Son, I had n-no idea!" Brains's very real alarm at his son's admission was two-fold. First was that his rescue action was caught on video for the world to see when, by rights, it should not have been, and second – but of far greater importance – was that his son had seen what happened, including his ungraceful tumble into the train.

"What h-h-h... what went on?" Fermat asked.

Brains paused for a moment and gathered his thoughts. "Well, I h-had to get aboard the t-train to reboot the c-computer, making it capable of slowing so we could bring it to a st-st-st... halt. I climbed out of Thunderbird One, w-wearing a harness and line, but s-somehow, a stray g-gust threw me off-b-balance and I f-fell in. I bumped my h-head on the edge of the hatch, but the line st-stopped me from tumbling all the w-way in. Unfortunately, it snapped, and I f-fell to the floor, banging up my humerus on the way d-down. I was a bit st-st-st... disoriented, but an employee helped me up. My helmet c-comm was out, so he lent me his ph-phone so I could call the railroad c-control and they let S-Scott know I was o-o-o... all right. Then, I d-did my job and w-we stopped the t-train."

"You m-mean _you_ stopped the t-train," Fermat corrected.

Brains gingerly shook his head. "N-No, son. It was a t-team effort. Scott and me... and you, F-Fermat."

Fermat ducked down, hiding his quick, pleased smile. Then he glanced up again. His smiled faded and he briefly looked away from the picture of his father. "I... I was so sc-scared , Dad. I th-thought... I thought I'd lost you. It was like m-my world ended." He sounded like a frightened boy again, needing reassurance.

Brains felt a tug at his heart, the same kind of tug he'd felt when he had comforted Fermat after a nightmare. He realized, not for the first time, that as grown up as his son so often sounded, Fermat was, in many ways, still a child.

"I know how that f-feels, son. I r-really do," he said softly. "When the H-Hood and his g-gang took over the island, and M-Mullion told Tr-Transom to start Thunderbird One's e-engines, I thought for sure I'd l-lost you. I knew there was n-no way you c-could survive that." He smiled. "But you did - you and Alan and T-Tin-Tin. And you defeated the Hood, saving I-International R-Rescue."

Fermat sniffed, and sniffed again, and blinked heavily. "No, Dad," he said, his voice thick. "It was a t-team effort. Me and Alan and Tin-Tin and you and Lady Penelope and P-Parker... it was a real t-team effort." He sniffed again, and swallowed, clearing his voice, and slipped off his glasses to wipe the back of his hand over his eyes. "I'm glad you u-understand."

"I d-do, son. I really do."

There was a pause as Fermat replaced his lenses, then he asked, in a much lighter and more jovial tone, "S-So, what did Dr. Hatoshi say?"

"You, young man, are sometimes t-too smart for your own g-good," Brains replied, shaking a finger at Fermat. It loomed large in the view screen. Fermat laughed, and Brains chuckled, then sighed heavily. "Mild wh-whiplash and a b-bruised humerus. I'm on p-painkillers, light d-duty, and I have to wear this d-d-d... blasted collar for a w-week."

"That's better than me, Dad." Fermat held up his arm in its cast. The blue covering took over Brains's screen for a moment. "I've g-got four more w-weeks of this, and it itches like h-h-h... crazy! At least you c-can take the collar off to sh-shower. And I st-still have to take c-classes. No 'light d-duty' for me."

"Oh, right! No sympathy for the o-old man," Brains retorted facetiously. "You k-kids don't know how g-good you've g-got it..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Fermat replied, grinning. "W-Walking uphill to school in a b-blizzard..."

"Both w-ways!" they said in unison. Fermat's laughter rang through the stairwell, and as a result, he almost missed the warning for lights out. Almost, but not quite.

"G-Gotta go, Dad," he said. "Almost t-time for lights out. I'll see you F-Friday?"

"M-More like sometime Thursday," Brains corrected. "We're l-leaving Friday but you kn-know how it is."

"Yeah, f-flying into yesterday," Fermat said, nodding. He paused, then smiled at his father. "Love you, Dad."

"I love you, t-too, son. See you s-soon."

"Bye."

The call ended, and Fermat groaned as he levered himself from the floor. He stepped lively down the stairs, and hurried once inside his hall. It was noisy, the noise of last minute preparations and partings before bedtime. He waved to a couple of people he knew, and finally entered his room. A.J. was already in bed, reading.

"Good phone call?" the younger boy asked.

"Yeah. Really g-good," was Fermat's reply.

xxxx

"Uh, J-Jeff?" Brains poked his head into Jeff's office, and Jeff waved him inside. "I, uh, f-found something out about the last r-r-r-rescue."

"The vid?" Jeff asked, eyes glued to his computer screen.

"Y-Yeah," Brains confirmed. "Uh, F-Fermat saw it."

Jeff looked up sharply. "He did? Live?"

Brains's answer included a sort of nod and a halfway shrug. "So it s-seems."

"God! Poor kid! No wonder why he was calling, sounding so frantic. He couldn't get hold of you..." Jeff shook his head. "Have you talked to him? Is he okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I just g-got off the phone with him." Brains settled down into a chair. "He'll b-be okay. I guess it was pretty tr-traumatic."

"I'm watching it now," Jeff said, motioning for Brains to come closer and turning up the volume on the commentary. Before Brains could get there, he winced, and drew in a sharp, hissing breath. "Ouch! That must have _hurt_!" He glanced up at his engineer. "No wonder why you've got whiplash! Never mind light duty, I'm taking you _off_ duty for the next three days after watching that!"

"W-Watching wh-what?" Brains gave his employer a sharp, irritated look of his own.

Jeff glanced up to see Brains leaning over the desk, and got up. "Sit here," he commanded. "You don't need to be leaning over me with your neck like that." He reached for his mouse and stopped the vid, then stepped it back several frames to just before Brains's ungainly accident. "There. See!"

Brains took in a deep breath of his own. "Y-Yeah. I see. I understand." He turned both the chair and his body to one side, trying to look at Jeff without moving his head and neck. "How'd they g-get this?"

"I don't know, but Penny sent it to me as soon as she viewed the download from our Cape Town agent." Jeff's eyes shifted to a smaller box in the upper corner of the computer screen. "Penny? Any word?"

"None, Jeff. I'm still making calls and trying to track down the photographer. It may be difficult to do until after six." Lady Penelope's face, lovely despite the early morning hour in England, appeared in the frame and the box enlarged to take up a quarter of the screen. "Oh, Brains! Please forgive me; I didn't see you there. How are you?"

"I'm f-f-f... okay, Lady Penelope," Brains said, a self-deprecating smile coming to his face. He gestured vaguely in the direction of his neck. "It doesn't h-hurt... much."

"You most certainly look better than I expected after seeing that recording of your fall," Penelope said with a kind smile. "That was quite a frightening moment."

"Y-Yes, it, uh, was rather fr-fr-fr... scary," Brains admitted. His eyes narrowed as he looked again at the picture. "Jeff, I'm s-sure that Scott d-deployed the c-camera fogger; in f-fact, I know he did." Brains shifted again to look at Jeff, and winced as his movement caused a twinge in his admittedly aching neck. "Could the f-fogger be, uh, malfunctioning in s-some way?" He tried to rise. "I think I'd b-better go ch-ch-ch... find out."

Jeff put a firm hand on Brains's shoulder. "As I said before, you're now off duty. Besides, the boys are already in the silo, testing the fogger. But I'm glad to have confirmation on Scott's actions. He was sure he'd switched it on, too."

Penny coughed delicately. "Jeff, perhaps Brains could do some research into new methods of photography, see if there is new equipment, perhaps even new techniques available for which we are unprepared." She smiled again. "It would keep him from going stir crazy."

Jeff glanced at his head scientist. "Not today, Penny, and probably not tomorrow either." Before Brains could protest, he put up a hand. "You need the rest, Brains, and the time to heal. You'll want to be at your best when we visit the boys later this week."

"You're going to visit the boys?" Penny asked, interested. "Is there a special occasion?"

Jeff smiled. "Alan's first track meet, and Fermat's first home quiz meet. We've promised to be there and cheer them on."

"Ah, I see." Penny nodded. "Tin-Tin did tell me about the boys' achievements. I hope they do well with their fathers watching them."

"I think they will." Jeff glanced down to see Brains try and smother a yawn. "Brains, why don't you get some rest? The boys can deal with the fogger until dinner time." He patted the thin shoulder. "Then they'll have to make sure everything's ready for the run to Thunderbird Five tomorrow." He frowned a little. "It's Gordon's turn to stay, but he's already grousing about not being able to visit Alan for this first meet. However, John is very excited about going."

"Then you must visit Alan again, when Gordon can join you," Penelope said. She smiled at Brains. "Please, Brains. I would feel far more relieved about your injuries if you rested." She leaned in, as if imparting a secret to Brains alone, even though Jeff was very much in the room. "It will keep Jeff from being such a overbearing mother hen, as well."

"I am _not_ overbearing," Jeff exclaimed, voice sounding affronted.

Penelope was about to make a witty riposte when Brains put up a hand. "Okay, o-okay. I'll g-go. Besides," he yawned again, "I think this m-medicine is making me - _yawn_ - drowsy."

Jeff stepped back to let him get up, and walked him to the door of the office. "Get some sleep and we'll see you at dinner. All right?"

Brains's response was a wave and uttering something unintelligible that was swallowed up in another prodigious yawn. Jeff closed the door, and crossed to his desk. He put an index finger up to tell Penelope to wait, then made a call on the house intercom. "Kyrano?"

The retainer's face appeared in another box on the computer screen, dwarfing the now reduced frame in which Penelope could still be seen. "Yes, Mr. Tracy?"

"Brains is heading for his chalet, and he's very sleepy. Please make sure he gets there safely. And let Onaha know that he may not make dinner if he's as drowsy as I think he is."

"Of course, Mr. Tracy. I'll tell her, then I'll go find him." The picture winked out, and Penny's window enlarged again.

"I'm sorry I haven't yet unearthed any information on the recording, Jeff, but I will continue my search. Is there anything else you need?"

Jeff shook his head. "Just let me know when you discover something. In the meantime, I'll see what my boys have found out about the fogger."

"Then I shall leave you to it. I'll talk with you later, Jeff. Have a good day."

"And a good morning to you, Penny. Thanks for calling; I know it's the wee hours there."

"You're very welcome and it's quite all right. I felt you should know as soon as was possible. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Her picture winked out, and Jeff was left staring at the frozen frame where Brains was caught, nearly in mid-air, arms windmilling, feet off the ground. _It'd almost be comical if it hadn't been so dangerous,_ he thought. With a decisive keystroke, he eliminated the picture, then got up to visit Thunderbird One's hangar and lend a hand to solve the mystery of the malfunctioning camera fogger.

_

* * *

**Is **the camera fogger malfunctioning? Will the boys get their homework done? Will Jeff bring John down from Thunderbird Five? How long will it take for Brains to recover? Can Jeff keep him off duty? Will Penny get her beauty sleep? And what about those mystery assailants? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	39. Unable To Resist

_Author's note: _More fallout from the rescue. Some pieces of the puzzle come together and John comes home. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and to her and Lillehafrue for being sounding boards.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Sunday was a relatively quiet day. Alan slept in, though Fermat did not. He went to the infirmary as usual for his medication, then on to breakfast where he ended up sitting with Dom.

"Alan told me that you're st-staying." Fermat smiled. "I'm g-glad."

"Me, too," Dom replied. He took a spoonful of his cereal. "He helped convince my folks."

"So I h-heard. He's g-going to have a really swelled h-head now." The boys both laughed, then Fermat made a motion toward Dom's suit jacket. "G-Going to church?"

"Yeah, my folks will be coming to take me to Mass," Dom said with a nod. "You?"

"Have to t-take medication for the arm," Fermat explained, raising the arm in question. "Ms. Bell said it would be e-easier if I took it near m-mealtimes."

"Makes sense," Dom replied. He paused, then asked, "Is there anything in particular I should know about Alan? Any habits he has that might be surprising or strange?"

Fermat blinked a couple of times. "No, I can't th-think of any at the m-moment. I understand he has to be out e-early on weekdays for a t-team run, but that's not s-something I had to worry about last year." He shrugged. "If I th-think of something later, I'll be sure to t-tell you."

"Okay, thanks." Dom stood. He motioned toward Fermat's tray. "Want me to take that for you?"

"That'd be a big h-h-h... yeah, thanks," Fermat replied gratefully. He rose from the table, making sure all the debris from his breakfast was securely on the tray. "I'll see you l-later."

"Yeah. Have a good morning."

The majority of the group got together for lunch, where the talk was mostly of those who had left and those who were staying.

"Glad to see that Dom's staying," Jason said as he forked up some mashed potatoes. "Guess that old 'Tracy charm' does work."

"I didn't do much," Alan protested. "I don't think Mr. Bertoli was happy about bringing Dom home. I just sort of... provided another argument in his favor, that's all. Dom was the one who stood up for himself and said he wanted to stay."

"Yeah, well, whatever it was, it worked," Jason replied. He glanced over to the table where Ralph sat next to Lee. "Wish Ralph would stand up for himself."

"Why?" Qaeshon asked, frowning. "What's up?"

"He told me that Sugi wants him to move to his room, be his roommate." Jason shook his head. "Ralph doesn't want to, but he won't tell Sugi."

"That doesn't sound like Ralph," Alan commented.

"Hell, that doesn't sound like Sugi. I'd have thought he'd want a room to himself." Xavion took a long drink of fruit punch. "Why doesn't Ralph just tell Sugi 'No'?"

Jason shrugged. "I dunno. It's like he's scared to."

The boys all exchanged troubled glances. "D-Do you have to give a-approval for him to m-move?" Fermat asked.

"I'm not sure," Jason replied, frowning. "If there's four people involved, then all four have to agree, but I'm not sure what happens if there's only three. I may not have a say in it at all."

"What would you do if you're asked?" A.J. wanted to know.

"I guess I'd say 'No'." Jason looked down at his tray. "I mean, Ralph's been a pretty good roomie, really, even if he has gotten a swelled head lately. I like the guy, though I'm none too fond of the company he's been keeping. But there's something wrong; I don't know what it is. He's... changed. I can't put my finger on why, but it's there."

"Sounds familiar," Xavion said, nodding. "All too familiar."

When lunch was through, most of the boys went their separate ways. Jason mentioned he was going to play _Settlers of Cataan_ in the games room, which interested A.J. Alan made plans to work out in the weight training room with Xavion, but first he wanted to get his math homework done. Qaeshon said he had to practice his violin. So A.J. wandered off with Jason, the Lewis brothers returned to Birchwood together, and Alan walked with Fermat to Maplewood.

"Did you get through to your dad?" Alan asked.

Fermat nodded. "Y-Yeah. He was i-i-i... hurt, so Dr. Hatoshi saw him. He's got m-mild whiplash and a b-bruised elbow, has to wear one of those neck b-braces. But he accomplished what he n-n-n... had to."

"Maybe we could look at the tertiary drive while A.J.'s out; read up on the logs," Alan suggested quietly. He glanced at his watch. "It's too early there to call. Besides, I think they're supposed to bring John home today." He brightened. "Hey! Maybe he can come out and see me compete!"

"I think your d-dad would have a hard time k-keeping him away," Fermat said with a grin. "And A.J. would be really excited to meet his f-favorite author."

"I'll have to tell Dad that John just _has_ to come!" Alan's grin matched Fermat's. "Come on! Let's boot up your computer and see what went on."

xxxx

"Wow." Alan's eyes grew wide as he read over the logs describing the rescue efforts. "Your father got a lot of action. Wish he was more descriptive in his logs though."

"He's not a v-very creative writer," Fermat commented, a sour tone to his voice. "He'd rather stick to f-facts." He peered at the screen. "Is that what I th-think it is? The v-v-v... recording?"

Alan moved the cursor over to click on the file. "Yeah! It is! Wonder how Dad got hold of it."

"And wh-what he thought of it," Fermat commented. He glanced up at Alan. "It's too long to w-watch here and now, Alan. We have no idea wh-when A.J. is coming back."

"Doesn't matter," Alan said firmly. "He already knows we're the school's biggest Thunderbirds fans. So what if he sees us with this."

"And wh-what if he asks where we g-g-got it?" Fermat frowned, putting his hand on the mouse and trying to click the player box down.

"We say my brothers taped it for me. Gordon, yeah... Gordon taped it for me." Alan kept hold of the mouse, trying to not only keep Fermat from disabling the vid feed but also click on the "play" button. "Fermat! I want to see this!"

"Alan! We're supposed to be d-doing homework!" The two pushed and pulled over the mouse, when Fermat finally resorted to the keyboard and shut down the tertiary drive.

"Hey!" Alan turned an angry face to his friend. "What did you do that for? I said I wanted to see it!"

"Well, I d-don't," Fermat said flatly. He reclaimed his mouse and popped a disk into his CD drive. "I'll c-copy it for you so you can v-view it at your leisure."

A tense, strained silence reigned as the vid was copied. When it was finished, Fermat slid the disk into a protective envelope and handed it to Alan. "The h-homework assignment, p-please."

Alan shook his head. "What's with you?" he asked. "I just wanted to see the rescue. I don't usually get this kind of chance. And it's not as if your dad was badly hurt. You know he's okay."

Fermat sat still, looking at his computer screen instead of at Alan. "The h-homework assignment, please."

There was another long pause, then Alan picked up his math book. "If you're going to be that way, fine." He fumbled with it and pulled out the paper he'd written the assignment on, handing it to Fermat. "Here. I have another copy in my planner."

He picked his jacket off of Fermat's bunk and tucked his book under his arm. He was about to step out the door when Fermat's voice stopped him. "How d-did you feel, seeing your f-family all floating around in Th-Thunderbird Five, pale and m-motionless? How did you f-feel when you c-called and they wouldn't a-answer?"

Alan turned around. The memory lingered, and was still the fodder of nightmares, even nearly six months after the fact. A thousand words, a hundred feelings had passed through his mind back then, but two had taken hold with a strength that astonished him, and those feelings hadn't passed, but instead were buried as deeply as he could manage. They welled up now as the vision flashed before his internal eye.

It was hard for him to choke it out. "Afraid," he said in a low voice. "Helpless."

"Do you w-want to see it again?" Fermat still wasn't looking at Alan.

"No." Alan was emphatic.

"Why not? You kn-know they're okay. They're s-safe."

"No." Alan shook his head. "It's too... hard."

Fermat finally turned to his friend, his face solemn. "Then you understand why I'd r-rather not see that r-rescue again." he said brusquely.

It was Alan's turn to look away. He nodded, his eyes turned toward Fermat's bunk, but not focused on anything in particular. At last he said, "Yeah. I guess I do." He glanced up again, and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

There was nothing more, no statement of forgiveness, no half-hearted smile. Alan knew Fermat had called him out for thinking about only himself again, just like in the jungle on that terrible day and, just as before, he didn't like it. But this time, it wasn't the fact that he'd been caught and called on it that shamed him as much as it was the fact that he'd done it in the first place. And that made a difference.

"I guess I'd better get back to my room and start working on my homework," Alan said with a shrug.

Fermat had gone back to staring at his computer screen. "Yeah, I guess you'd b-better."

"Thanks for the vid."

"You're w-welcome."

Alan turned to leave, then swung back again. "See you at dinner?"

"M-Maybe."

He sighed almost inaudibly. "Okay. Later, Fermat."

Fermat nodded, and Alan left.

xxxx

Jeff frowned at the readouts as he absently lifted his cup of coffee to his lips. He only looked up when he heard a chorus of, "Good morning, Brains," from the sons that were at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, Brains," he echoed, putting down the computer pad. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"St-Stiff and s-s-s... achy," Brains replied. He sat down, his posture straighter than normal due to the collar. He called Jeff's attention to a small pill bottle by shaking it quickly. "B-Before you ask, I have my p-p-painkillers right here. I'll t-take them with breakfast."

"What makes you think I was going to ask?" Jeff responded blandly, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Brains didn't reply; he merely scowled at Jeff and reached for the orange juice pitcher. Just as his hand was about to close on the handle, Onaha swept into the room, picked up the jug, and poured some for him.

"How are you feeling today, Brains?" she asked with a brisk solicitousness as she brought a plate of freshly made pancakes to him.

"I'm, uh, st-stiff and sore," Brains admitted.

"Do you have your painkillers with you?" she asked.

Scott shot an amused glance to Virgil, while Gordon elbowed him from the other side and chuckled quietly. Brains's eyes opened in surprise, then he turned to Jeff, who gave him a smirk that said plainly, "See, I don't have to ask."

"Y-Yes, I have them," Brains told Onaha.

"Good. Make sure you take them," she said with a decisive nod of her head, and a motherly pat on his shoulder. "They won't do you any good sitting in the bottle."

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

The Tracy sons chuckled a little more at Brains's predicament, then settled in to eat their breakfast. Brains took a few bites and peered at the data pad Jeff had placed next to his plate. "Are those the r-results of the fogger t-testing?"

"Yes, Brains, they are." Jeff picked up the pad again. "Seems that everything is working perfectly."

"We tried every angle, at every distance we could manage in the silo, Brains," Scott said. "And every type of photography we have available. The fogger caught it every time."

"I don't understand it," Virgil added with a frown. "How did they get such clear pictures?" He turned to Scott. "Were they close? Could you see them?"

Scott shook his head. "I didn't see them actually. I suppose they could have been outside the range of the fogger."

"It still doesn't add up," Gordon said. He stopped to drink some juice, then added. "The pictures were clear, and there was very little interference."

"I-Interference?" Brains asked. "What do you m-mean?"

"Trees, buildings... stuff like that," Gordon explained. He took a bite of pancake, chewed, then pointed his fork at Brains. "In fact, the picture zoomed in and out, but never seemed to leave a certain vantage point."

"You could have that with a zoom lens," Virgil remarked.

"B-But..." Brains's thought trailed off. He turned to Jeff again. "C-Can I see the footage a-again?"

"Brains, you're off duty," Jeff reminded him in a warning tone.

"I kn-know. And I'll stay qu-quiet. But there's s-something... something I read about r-recently." Brains started to shake his head, winced, and thought better of it. "I might be able to r-recall if I see the f-f-f... vid."

Jeff looked at Brains thoughtfully, then nodded. "All right. But just watching. If you have any ideas, pass them on to me or John and we'll run a search. Agreed?"

"A-Agreed."

"And take your meds." Jeff took a last gulp of coffee, then motioned for more. "I've been watching you and I haven't seen you open that bottle yet."

Brains smiled sheepishly and reached for his medicine. "Y-Yes, sir."

xxxx

Thunderbird Three had already taken off, on its way to bring John down to _terra firma_. It was Gordon's turn to stay and man the station; a job he didn't much like, and didn't usually protest. But the prospect of an upcoming trip to Wharton to see Alan in his first meet had sparked a mild complaint.

"Dad, I'd really like to see Alan compete," he had told his father. "It's going to be a special event, even more so for me with it being at Wharton and all. Could maybe Virgil or Scott stay this time? I'd be happy to swap duty weeks with them."

Jeff had shaken his head. "No, Gordon. I understand how exciting it is to see Alan compete for the first time, but Virgil stayed last month, and until we figure out why Thunderbird One wasn't able to interfere with those pictures, I want Scott to stay close for rescues." He had smiled and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "I promise that we'll record it all, and even upload it to you live if you like."

Gordon had sighed and his shoulders slumped. "All right, Dad. I'll go. I just had to try, y'know."

"I know," Jeff had replied. "Now, get Thunderbird Three in the air. John's waiting."

"Docking procedure complete," the feminine voice intoned as a bank of lights on Thunderbird Three's console turned green. Gordon shut down the requisite systems, then climbed out of his seat to grab his gear. Scott was already ahead of him, opening the airlock and heading inside the space station.

"Hey, guys," John said, turning away from the computer banks to greet his brothers. "I'll be with you in a few minutes. I'm doing a search for Dad."

"Okay," Scott replied amiably, as he approached. "What's the search all about?"

"Brains remembered reading something about a cutting edge method for photography, one particularly suited for action filming, especially at night. Dad asked me to see what companies are producing it and who might be using it right now. So far, it seems that there are three companies beta testing this new technology. I'm trying to see if IWN is among those doing the betas."

"Hm. You mean that the camera fogger isn't set up for this new photographic tech?" Scott asked.

John nodded. "That seems to be Brains's theory."

"Whew!" Scott said, suddenly grinning. "If it is, it'd be a load off my mind."

"Hey!" Gordon's voice came from behind them. They turned to see him toting a plastic box. "You two going to help me unload or do I leave you both here with nothing to eat?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Like you could do that with John sitting here, in control of the airlock and docking arm."

"I could do an emergency override," Gordon replied. "Start emergency separation."

John tapped a few keys. "Nope. Now you can't. I've just logged you off as primary pilot and logged myself in. Without my clearance code, you're going nowhere, kiddo."

Gordon put down his burden, waving a dismissive hand before turning away. "I'll just go down to crew's quarters to unpack then - maybe even take a nap. Let me know when you're ready to lend a hand."

The older brothers exchanged glances. Scott sighed heavily, while John shook his head. "Okay, okay, we're coming," Scott said, following Gordon out of the control room, John right behind him. "God, but you're in a foul mood."

"Well, you'd be too if you were stuck up here when your younger brother's going to make his debut as a track and field sensation," Gordon complained. "I asked if I could swap weeks with you or Virgil, and Dad said, 'No'."

"All right," Scott responded testily. "I get the picture."

John reached out to put a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "I'm sorry things have to be this way, Gords, but we'll do our damnedest to keep you in the loop, okay?"

Gordon blew out a heavy breath. "Yeah, okay, whatever. C'mon, let's get this over with."

When they finished unloading Three, John went back to his search. "Let me wrap this up and download the information to Dad." He scrolled through the articles he'd amassed, Gordon and Scott both looking over his shoulder.

"Hey, wait," Gordon said suddenly. "Back it up a bit."

John gave his brother a puzzled look and scrolled back up the search page. Gordon watched intently until he saw what he was looking for. "That! Right there." He reached across John to point to a particular article.

" 'Inventor sues for control of his creation'," John read aloud. " 'Dr. Daniel Sugimoto, creator of the Mega Speed Action Capture Camera v. 1, is suing to retain his rights to the hardware and software that he claims to have created in the early 2020s. Dr. Sugimoto claims that his is the basic design currently being beta-tested by the audio-vid giants Sony, Canon and Hitachi. "My designs were pirated," he said in an interview with _World Business Weekly_. "These companies are using proprietary technology and must be brought to account!" John paused and looked over at Gordon. "What interests you about this?"

"The name," Gordon explained. "Sugimoto is the last name of Alan's former roommate, the one who was giving him grief.

"You think there's a connection?" Scott asked, his brow furrowed.

Gordon shrugged. "I don't know. But it's worth looking into."

While Gordon talked, John completed the download of the information he'd gathered. "Well, you can do some more digging if you like," he told his younger brother. "As for me, I'm outta here."

He rose from his chair, and clapped Gordon on the shoulder. Scott reached out to ruffle the younger Tracy's hair and the three of them headed back to the docking port, John grabbing his already packed duffel bag along the way.

"See you next week, guys," Gordon said as he watched John and Scott climb aboard Three.

"See you then, Squirt," Scott said, grinning. He waved at Gordon, then the airlock door closed behind him.

Gordon stared at the closed door for a moment or two, then the all-too-familiar shudder that meant Thunderbird Three had separated from Five ran through the deck plating and he sighed. "Time to get to work," he murmured to himself. "Better check in with Dad... and let him know about the possible Sugimoto connection."

xxxx

Alan sat at his desk, earphones on, his math book open but forgotten, watching the footage from the rescue. His foot beat an unconscious tattoo on the floor as he watched Brains climb out of Thunderbird One's hatch, and both groaned and winced when the scientist fell into the train. He stepped the disk ahead, to where he could see the lanky figure stand inside the car and make his way forward. It was his third time through the recording, and he'd had nearly the same reaction every time.

"Hey," came a voice at his ear. He glanced up to see Dom gazing at the screen over his shoulder. "I'd heard about this," Dom continued, "but I didn't get to see but a clip or two on the news. Where'd you get it?"

Alan removed his earphones. "My brother, Gordon, recorded it for me and I uploaded it this afternoon," he said, sticking with the story he'd chosen earlier. "Want to watch?"

Dom shook his head. "Thanks, but no. The little clip I saw of the guy falling into the train was enough, thanks."

Alan turned fully to regard his roommate. "Is that what they're showing on the vid?"

"Yeah. Over and over and over again." Dom shrugged. "That's what gets ratings, I guess. It'll be gone as soon as something more exciting comes along." He frowned a little. "Though I'm surprised that they actually got pictures of the whole event. Don't the Thunderbirds have a 'no pictures' policy?"

"Yeah, they do. It's been in the news lots of times," Alan said, nodding. "From what I've heard, they've also got some kind of device that can stop people from photographing them."

"Hmm. Wonder why they didn't use it this time?"

Alan shrugged. "Don't know. But it's cool to see them in action, isn't it?"

"Yeah, though I felt sorry for that guy who fell in. That must have hurt!" Dom turned back to his desk and sat down. "I'd better get on with things."

"Me, too." Alan clicked down the player, and turned back to his math book. There was a buzz at the door and Dom got up to open it. Zave stepped inside.

"You ready, Pinky?"

Alan groaned internally; he'd forgotten his appointment with Zave and the weight room. _Still, maybe a workout is what I need to clear my head._ Laying the book aside once more, he got up and grabbed his jacket. "Yeah. I'm ready. Let's go."

* * *

_Did Alan get his homework done? Will he and Fermat stay mad at each other? What will Gordon find in his research? Is there a connection between the two Sugimotos? Will Brains remember his medicine or will Onaha have to get rough with him? And what about those mystery assailants? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	40. Unsociableness

_Author's note: _John's home! Frost on the ground and between friends. Qaeshon tries to remember something important. More puzzle pieces fall into place, but more questions abound. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and to her and Lillehafrue for being sounding boards.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Monday morning saw the first light frost on the grass at Wharton. It chilled Alan's feet as he ran with the team, then dissolved into a cold, heavy dew as soon as the sun rose. Fermat caught only glimpses of it in the deep shadows cast by some of the dorms as he and A.J. walked first to the infirmary, then to the dining hall. 

The dining room was less noisy than usual, and as Fermat looked around, he noticed a reduced number of students. "I d-didn't realize so many had l-left," he said to Qaeshon.

His friend shrugged. "You've got to remember that the track and soccer teams aren't here," he said. "The difference shouldn't be as noticeable at lunch."

Fermat nodded. "Y-You're probably r-r-r... correct."

When it came time to go, Qaeshon offered to take Fermat's tray. Fermat was gratified by the suggestion, and he walked over to the exit to wait for A.J., Qaeshon, and Jason. When the trio approached him, he noticed that they were in earnest conversation, and that Qaeshon kept looking over his shoulder.

"I tell you, there's something weird about that guy!" the sophomore exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently.

"Nothing's changed, Kay. That guy's always been weird," Jason countered.

"That's not what I mean, Jase," Qaeshon went on. "It's... it's... somewhere in the back of my brain. Something about him is familiar, but I can't put my finger on just what. And I think it's important." He shook his head again, his dreadlocks swinging back and forth. "I wish I could figure it out."

"Well, stop thinking about it," A.J. suggested. "When you don't think about it, then the answer sometimes will just... pop up!"

Qaeshon sighed and put his hand on A.J.'s shoulder. "I don't know if I can, A.J. But thanks for the idea, anyway."

The frost may have melted on the grounds of Wharton, but it had not thawed even a little between Fermat and Alan. Fermat was coolly polite to his friend, and Alan, after feeling the first chill, responded in kind. So when they went to lunch, and deliberately sat at opposite ends of the table from each other, it was noticed.

Jason looked from one to the other, then back again, then once more before asking, "Okay, what's wrong with you two?"

In unison, Alan growled and Fermat huffed, "Nothing!" before exchanging glares.

Jason rolled his eyes and shook his head. Qaeshon snorted, and said, "Ohhhkay!" A.J. glanced from Jason to Qaeshon and back, while Xavion just ate his lunch and ignored the whole exchange.

A.J. leaned over and murmured to Qaeshon, "What can we do about this?"

Qaeshon replied, just as quietly, "Nothing. Just let them work it out. If they don't within a day or so, then we knock heads together."

"Oh." A.J. shot a concerned look at his roommate. "Okay."

"And don't let them get you into the middle of it, either," Qaeshon added, now speaking loud enough to be heard, and giving Fermat both a sharp look and a lifted eyebrow.

"I won't."

Quiet descended on the group, until Jason asked, "Hey, Kay! Did you ever figure out what was bugging you about Pierce this morning?"

As Qaeshon shook his head, Xavion perked up and asked, "Pierce? Is that loser bugging you, Kay?"

Kay's face screwed up into a pained expression. "Nah, he's not really bugging me. Just something about him is. I don't know what, though, and it's driving me crazy! Somehow I think it's important." He shook his head again, more energetically this time. "Man, I wish I could remember!"

"Like A.J. said, leave it be," Jason reminded him. "It'll come along on its own."

A burst of loud laughter elsewhere in the room startled the group and brought their attention to the source: Lee's table. The boys watched for a moment, then turned back to their own company.

"Any news on Ralph?" Alan asked. "Is he moving in with Sugi?"

Jason shrugged. "I'm still not sure. He hasn't said one way or the other. I think he's stalling."

"Sugi w-won't like that," Fermat commented.

"I know." Jason finished off his drink, making an involuntary "ah!" as he did. "It's like he's between a rock and a hard place."

The others made commiserating noises, as one after another, they finished eating. A.J. offered to take Fermat's tray for him today, but the older boy said he'd do it himself. "If Pierce is on duty, I w-want to see him. Maybe another p-pair of eyes can figure out wh-what's gotten Kay so hot and bothered."

He got into line behind Xavion, peering out from behind the tall senior, who glanced down at him irritably once. There wasn't anything odd that Fermat could actually see about the kitchen worker, who laughed with one of the older students, but there was _something_... Fermat shook his head. _Great! Now **I'll** be thinking about this all day! _He delivered his tray quickly. Pierce said nothing, just abruptly took it. The glowering form of Xavion, who was waiting for his brother, seemed to keep him from his normal jeering. Qaeshon stepped up after Fermat did, and within a few moments, almost the whole group was waiting in the foyer. Everyone except Alan, who had already stalked off to his next class.

xxxx

"Oh, God, it's so good to be home," John moaned as he came to the breakfast table. "Though I could do without the birds serenading the dawn... or the pre-dawn, or whatever it is. They get kind of loud out there."

"I don't notice them," Scott said, grinning. His grin got wider as Virgil stumbled to the table. "Virge doesn't either."

Virgil blinked owlishly as he dropped into a chair. "Don' wha?" he mumbled.

"Hear the birds," John supplied helpfully. He glanced up and smiled at Onaha, who set the orange juice pitcher in front of him. "Thanks, Onaha."

"Or your alarm clock," Scott added, giving Virgil a little poke in the arm. "It must have gone off five or six times this morning."

"Hmph," was all that Virgil could say in reply.

Jeff came in, his data pad tucked under his arm, followed by Brains, who was trying to stick his finger in the thick collar again. "Good morning, boys," Jeff said.

Brains echoed the greeting. "G-Good morning."

"Good morning, Dad, Brains. " "Mornin', Dad. Mornin', Brains." "Mmmf."

"I see that Virgil's been up late again," Jeff remarked as he put his pad down by his plate. "What was it this time? Painting or composing?"

Virgil took a long swig of orange juice and grimaced, his eyes closing, then opening fully. "Painting," he finally said. "Moonlight on the ocean."

"Ah, I see... or I hope I'll see when it's finished."

"Sure, Dad."

Jeff kept his eyes on his data pad as he ate his vegetable omelet, and finally John piped up to ask, "What's so fascinating, Dad?"

"What's so fascinating?" Jeff repeated. "I took Gordon's little tip from yesterday and had my people in New York do some digging. Turns out that Daniel Sugimoto has three sons and a daughter. The youngest of the sons, and of the children as a whole, is Lee. And yes, he's the one at Wharton."

"Do you think that Lee's giving Alan grief because of what happened with his father?" Scott asked, frowning.

"Uh, just what are you guys talking about?" Virgil asked. Jeff explained to him about the discovery of the new camera technology, the connection with Dr. Sugimoto, and now, the further connection with Alan through the youngest Sugimoto child. When Jeff was finished, Virgil frowned. "His reaction doesn't make any sense to me, Dad. I mean, what do _we_ have to do with this? Why would this Lee kid be picking on Alan?"

"Virgil's right, Dad," John added. "It's not like any of the firms testing this technology are subsidiaries of ours."

"Lee m-might not kn-know that," Brains offered.

"True," John admitted. "Or he just might see Alan as... well, as son of the rich and famous Jeff Tracy."

A sly smile crossed his face as he went on. "Instead of brother to the handsome and famous author, John G. Tracy."

"If it's a competition between 'rich' and 'handsome', John," Jeff riposted, grinning, "I'll take 'rich' any day."

"Oooh!" Scott said with a smirk.

"Where does 'famous' fall in all of this?" Virgil asked, amused.

"Beautiful people are a dime a dozen... rich ones get noticed," Jeff replied smugly.

"And s-smart ones have the l-last word," Brains said. He took his last bite, popped in a pain pill, and swigged down his juice. "See y-ya," he added as he rose from the table.

"Where are you going?" Jeff asked, startled.

"To ch-check my e-mail," Brains called with a grin, turning around since he couldn't turn his head. He walked backwards, and stumbled a little, arms flailing. Jeff winced. John held his breath momentarily, while Scott looked away and Virgil closed his eyes. But the expected fall didn't come; Brains caught himself, gave his skinny shoulders a good shake, then turned and sauntered away.

"Be more careful!" Onaha, who had just entered the room, exclaimed at his retreating back. He put two fingers to his temple and snapped a quick salute before disappearing completely.

Jeff shook his head. "Thought for sure we had another visit from the doctor coming."

"What's got him so excited about his email?" Virgil asked.

He glanced at his father, who shrugged. "I have no idea. But as long as it keeps him from doing any heavy work..." He shrugged again and went back to his coffee.

xxxx

Alan headed out to stretch and warm up with the rest of the team. The day had turned pleasant, sunny and bright, and he almost wished he'd worn shorts instead of sweats. When Xavion had finished putting the team through their preparatory paces, Coach Evans called a few of the boys over by name, including Alan.

He looked first at the five boys he'd called, then his team, so much smaller than the last time they'd practiced, and even smaller than the morning run. He shook his grizzled head, and sighed inaudibly.

"As you've probably all noticed, we're down quite a few from our last practice. Some of our members have been pulled from school. As a result, you five have had some changes in your positions. Adams? You're now on the 4 by 400 meter relay in addition to the 4 by 100. Carter, the 300 meter hurdles. Jameson, I've added you to the cross country squad. Tracy, you're primary on javelin, and Estevez will be your back up."

"Uh, excuse me, Coach," Alan stammered, "but, uh, according to Steve Ulrich, I had a lot to learn. Who's going to teach me..." he glanced at his teammate, Julio Estevez, "I mean, us?"

"I will," Coach replied. "Now Adams, Carter and Jameson, report to Lewis. Tracy, you and Estevez come with me."

The javelin practice went much smoother than before, and Alan found that though Coach Evans was just as tough as Steve, he was also fair and more likely to praise than to put down. So by the end of the session, Alan felt far more comfortable with the idea of throwing javelin than he had before. Then Julio went off to work on his shot put with Coach Beccara, while Alan practiced his long jump and high jump skills under Xavion's watchful eye. When the entire practice was over, he and the senior walked back to the gym together.

"So, where's Steve?" Alan asked bluntly, his voice quiet.

"He's not on the team anymore and that's all you need to know," Zave replied, scowling.

"Did he get pulled from school?"

Zave abruptly stopped, and Alan overshot him, then backtracked the few steps to meet up with the team captain. "Look, Pinky. It's really none of your business what happened to Steve, okay? The only ones who know are the ones that _need_ to know, and that's not you."

Alan shrugged, spreading out his hands. "Okay, okay. Just curious, that's all." Zave started walking again, and Alan fell into step with him once more. "I'm not going to find out anything if I don't at least ask." Chuckling, he added, "And Fermat's dad says there are no stupid questions."

"That might be true," Zave replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "But there are nosy ones, and tactless ones. I think those are pretty stupid, myself."

The blunt response took Alan aback, and he slowed, frowning. Zave kept going, without even a backwards look.

xxxx

Brains leaned back in his chair, trying to put his hands behind his head and feeling a definite twinge in his neck. He switched position to lean forward and put his chin on his hand, which produced the same feeling, only from a different quarter. Sighing, he sat back, and folded his arms. Despite his discomfort, he was satisfied. He had managed, through an acquaintance of his, to get some idea of just how this new photographic technology worked. _I'll probably need more details, but this gives me a place to start. _

Instead of moving closer to his computer to begin his work, he instead printed out the information he had been sent. Then he chose an old fashioned pencil and a wide pad of blank sheets. _If I take this down by the pool, it won't look so much like I'm working... and that will keep Jeff off my back._ He stood, squashing the desire to shake his head. _He means well, but my mind won't let me rest. So, off to the great outdoors, some sun, and some serious thinking._

With that, he tucked the pencil into his pocket, and the pad under his arm, striding out to "rest" as per his employer's instructions.

xxxx

At dinner, the icy silence between Alan and Fermat had not thawed a whit. The other boys ignored it, drawing both of them into different conversations, but never the same ones. They knew from past experience that trying to bring the two together before they were ready to hash out their differences would just prolong the antagonism.

Dinner was almost done when Mr. Culp came into the room and made a beeline for Alan and his friends. Conversation ceased, not only at their table, but at all the surrounding ones as the students wanted to know just who was in trouble, and why.

"Alan Tracy?"

"Uh, you want me, Mr. Culp?" Alan's eyes grew wide and he pointed a finger at himself, a questioning look on his face. He wracked his brain, trying to think of what he could have possibly done to get in trouble this time.

"Mr. Magnuson would like to ask you a couple of questions," Mr. Culp explained. He glanced around at the shell-shocked looks Alan's friends gave him and the almost predatory ones on the nearby students, then smiled. "Don't worry; you're not in any trouble."

Alan relaxed with an audible puff of breath, then smiled sheepishly. His friends were also visibly relieved, and their all-too-interested fellow students turned back to their meals, though a few kept a listening ear out to hear what they might.

"I'll take your tray, Alan," Jason offered as Alan bolted the last of his cake, and washed it down with a final gulp of milk.

"Thanks, Jase," Alan replied. He rose, wiping his mouth, and followed Mr. Culp from the hall.

"What do you think that's all about?" Qaeshon asked. Fermat merely shrugged and went back to his meal.

Mr. Culp guided Alan to the security office, a place that Alan knew entirely too well. They walked back to Mr. Magnuson's office, where the security chief sat behind his desk. Mrs. Belvedere was also present, sitting in one of the hard chairs, and next to her sat an older Asian man. Alan recognized him from a few of the pictures that Sugi had put on his desk.

"Come in, Alan," Mr. Mags said. He gestured towards the Asian man. "Alan, this is Dr. Sugimoto, Lee's father. Dr. Sugimoto, Alan Tracy."

"Hello, sir," Alan said politely, shaking the older man's hand. Dr. Sugimoto returned the greeting and the handshake, then Mr. Magnuson indicated that Alan should sit.

"The reason we asked you here is that you were Lee's most recent roommate," the security chief said. "We wanted to ask you a few questions about Lee, see if you remembered something that could help us."

Alan glanced from Mr. Magnuson to Mrs. Belvedere to Dr. Sugimoto. "I'm glad to help if I can, but... why?"

"Because, Alan," Mrs. Belvedere said quietly. "Lee Sugimoto has disappeared."

_

* * *

What happened to Sugi? Why is Steve off the team? Will Qaeshon and Fermat remember that pertinent detail? Will Alan and Fermat stay mad at each other? And what about those mystery assailants? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	41. Unraveling

_Author's note: _Unraveling some of the threads. The search for Sugi begins. Plans for obtaining the photography tech move along. Jeff gets an unexpected phone call, and Qaeshon remembers. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan glanced once again from one adult to another. "Missing? But I just saw him at lunch." 

"You saw him at lunch?" Mr. Magnuson made a note on a data pad. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. He was laughing and talking with his friends," Alan explained with a nod. "Probably everyone at my table saw and heard him."

"So, that narrows down the field as to when he might have been taken," Mr. Magnuson said.

"I can narrow down the field even more," said Mrs. Belvedere. She pulled out a data pad of her own. "According to his teachers, he was present in his fifth and sixth period classes, but absent from his final class for the day. My records show that, at the end of sixth period, he was served with a request to see Dr. MacDonald during his seventh period class. I will have to call Dr. MacDonald's secretary or the headmaster himself to see if Lee made that meeting."

"So, we may not be dealing with a case of abduction, but instead a case of voluntarily leaving campus," Mr. Culp deduced.

"But where would he go?" Dr. Sugimoto asked, his voice showing his concern. "He doesn't have a car."

Mr. Magnuson looked at Alan again. "Do you know if he had any friends in the community?"

Alan shook his head. "None that I can think of," he replied. "We weren't talking much those last few days as roommates."

"Do you know who among his friends here might know?" Mrs. Belvedere asked.

A thoughtful frown creased Alan's brow as he considered her question. "Well, he's good friends with Steve Ulrich, and with Ralph Santiago." He glanced up. "I'd say ask Trey Mackenzie, but he's gone. Xavion Lewis was good friends with him last year; you might ask him."

"Thank you, Alan." Mrs. Belvedere put those names on her list and looked over to see Mr. Magnuson doing the same. "Perhaps Mr. Culp could track down Ralph Santiago and Xavion Lewis for us. Steven Ulrich, unfortunately, has already left, but if these two can't help us, we can phone him. The same would be true for Trey Mackenzie."

"Right." Mr. Magnuson rose and pulled a key card from his desk. "Let's go take a look at Lee's room. Perhaps Alan can tell if there's anything missing. David, please get Santiago and Lewis for us and bring them here. I'll talk with them when we return."

_So, Steve **is** gone,_ Alan mused to himself as he followed the administrator, the security chief, and the worried father to Chetwood. _I guess his parents must have been upset with what happened last week._

As they walked, Dr. Sugimoto dropped back to pace Alan. "It's Alan, right?"

"Yes, sir. That's my name."

The man hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words, then he asked, "I'm a little hazy on the details as to why you no longer wanted to be my son's roommate. Could you fill me in?"

Alan huffed out a deep breath, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, sir..." His voice trailed off as he, too, weighed what he was about to say. _Don't want to hurt this guy, but I need to tell something close to the truth._ "Well, sir," he began again, "Lee and I weren't seeing eye to eye on a couple of matters, and there was this other guy - my current roommate, Dom - who was having trouble with some habits of his roommate, Trey Mackenzie. Since Lee and Trey were good friends, and I didn't... indulge in those habits, Dom, Trey and I all thought it would be good for Trey and me to switch."

Dr. Sugimoto nodded as they entered the dorm's foyer. "I see. So why didn't Trey become my son's roommate?"

_Boy, how do I put this?_ "Well, first of all, Lee didn't want me to move. Then, uh, Trey was expelled from school. The habit that was annoying Dom is against the rules here, and someone ratted Trey out. I talked it over with Mrs. Belvedere, and she agreed that, despite Lee's feelings, our differences were strong enough that I should be able to." Alan shrugged. "So I moved in with Dom and Lee got a room to himself."

Lee's father shook his head. "Lee told me none of this. But then, he has changed this past year and I wasn't sure why... until now."

Alan opened his mouth to ask why, but they had arrived at the dorm room. Mr. Magnuson let them in, and Alan looked around.

The room was clean and neat, almost Spartan in its lack of ornamentation. Alan and Dr. Sugimoto both moved out into the room, looking around, while Mr. Magnuson and Mrs. Belvedere watched.

"He's taken his computer," Alan said. A quick glance at the bed, and, "His pillow, too."

Dr. Sugimoto opened one wardrobe door and found only a few jackets hanging up.

"That one was mine," Alan informed him. He gestured to the other chifforobe. "Here's where he had most of his clothes."

Lee's father nodded, and opened that wardrobe. There were several school uniforms hanging up, and some dress slacks and shirts, but not much more. "He has taken his letter jacket," Dr. Sugimoto declared. He began opening the drawers. "Most of his casual clothes are gone, too." He stopped when he came to the locked drawer. "I can't open this one."

"Allow me." Mr. Magnuson opened the drawer with his own thumb print, and Alan made a brief mental note of it. Dr. Sugimoto rummaged around inside.

"His watch and satellite phone are missing. I don't know what else he would have kept in here."

"Probably his music player. I remember he had one," Alan said.

Mr. Magnuson made notes on his data pad. "It looks less and less like we're dealing with an abduction. It seems that Lee has just left school on his own."

"I don't understand. Where would he go? Surely he knew that I was on my way."

"That, perhaps, is why he left," Mrs. Belvedere said. "He couldn't face you."

Alan had meandered into the bathroom, and noticed that most of Lee's personal care items were missing. A quick glance down, and he drew in a sharp breath. "Mr. Mag?"

"Yes, Alan?" The security chief was at the bathroom door in seconds.

"In the trash can," Alan said, pointing.

Mr. Magnuson reached down, picked up the trash can, and let out a low whistle. "I'll take this back to the office with me so I can handle it properly," he said, showing the syringe to Dr. Sugimoto.

Lee's father groaned. "I wasn't ready to believe it," he said sadly, shaking his head. "But there's the proof." He sighed heavily. "I should have just put him in public school and kept him home. Maybe then he wouldn't have turned to those... damned steroids."

"We'll find him, Dr. Sugimoto. Then you can work this out between you," Mr. Magnuson said. "Come along. David has probably found the two boys we need to talk to."

The door opened to find a small group of students loitering in the hallway. The news that Mr. Magnuson and Mrs. Belvedere had gone into Lee Sugimoto's room had spread like wildfire, and the other residents – being boys – came to see why.

"Okay, boys, I know you're curious, but there's nothing exciting going on," Mr. Mag said. "Go back to what you were doing. Paolo!"

The hall monitor, Paolo Martinelli, had been hurrying towards them when the security chief called his name. "C'mon, guys," he urged. "Back to your own business. Let Mr. Magnuson through." The small crowd began to disperse and Mr. Magnuson led the way back to the foyer.

As they stepped outside, Mrs. Belvedere stopped at the top of the stairs. "Alan."

Alan turned to face her. "Yes, ma'am?"

She speared him with a no-nonsense look, one that he'd seen before. "What Dr. Sugimoto said in there is to be treated as confidential. It was said without thinking, and it is a matter between the school and the Sugimotos. Do you understand?"

He wanted to protest; the whole situation was one that he ached to tell his friends. _But if I tell my friends, they'll tell their friends, and pretty soon the news will get out. Dr. Sugimoto doesn't deserve that, even as much as I think Lee does. All right, Tracy, you know how to keep secrets. Keep this one. For Lee's dad._ He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I won't discuss it with anyone."

Mrs. Belvedere's face softened. "Thank you, Alan. I'm sure that some of this situation will eventually be brought to light, but it will be at the time and place of our choosing. And thank you for your help." She glanced at her watch. "I must make some phone calls."

"Do you need me to...?"

She shook her head before he could finish the sentence. "No, I think you've done what you could. You're dismissed."

With that, she walked briskly off in the direction of the security office. Alan watched her for a few moments, then put his hands in his pockets as he headed back to his dorm. _I'd better figure out what I **am** going to tell my friends._

xxxx

Virgil cocked his head inquisitively at the snoring, lanky form lying in a lounger under a shady palm. Brains's glasses had been tucked safely away in his pocket, and an open pad of paper lay in his lap. Virgil spied and retrieved the old fashioned pencil that had rolled away from limp fingers; there was no eraser left in the blunt, well masticated end, and the point had broken off in the fall. He tucked the wayward instrument into the shirt pocket alongside the glasses, then turned to peer at the equations and sketches on the exposed page, turning his whole body so he could see them as from Brains's point-of-view. Shaking his head, he picked up the pad, and moved out into the sunlight with it.

"What's that?" Scott asked as he sauntered down to meet his younger brother.

Virgil turned, and put a finger to his lips, indicating with a jerk of his head the sleeping engineer. He tucked the pad under his arm and motioned for Scott to follow him out of earshot.

"Looks like Brains has been disobeying orders," Virgil murmured, glancing back at the prone form.

Scott lifted his chin so he could look over Virgil's shoulder. "What's it all about?"

"Hmm. Looks to me like he got some information on that new camera system, and he's trying to come up with a device to counter it. Maybe even a redesign of the camera fogger itself; I can't really tell." He pursed his lips. "At least he has neat penmanship."

Scott snorted a laugh, then gazed at his brother. "You going to mention this to Dad?"

Virgil shook his head slightly. "Nah. Brains is resting, which is what Dad ordered him to do. He's not in the lab, and not in the hangars. If working on something like this is relaxing for him, then Dad should respect that." He closed the pad to protect the page from possible damage, and returned it gently to Brains's lap. Then he joined Scott, who was walking back to the house. "I would like to know where he got the information. Some of his design made sense to me, but some of it was _way_ over my head."

"Maybe we should ask if there is any way we can get our hands on the specs," Scott said. "Incognito, of course."

"Of course," Virgil said with a laugh as they entered the house.

They found both Jeff and John in Jeff's office. John looked up briefly, said, "Hey", then went back to the data pad he was poring over. Jeff's greeting was far longer, and ended with the question, "What brings you two here?"

"We were wondering if there was any way to get the specs for that new photography tech," Virgil said.

Jeff drew in a deep breath through his nose and let it out noisily. "Well, I've been trying, but none of the major companies are looking for a partner, especially one for whom photography is a minor concern. I've tried to couch it in terms of space photography, tie it in with the aerospace division, but my vice presidents don't think that's going to work."

"What about Dr. Sugimoto?" Scott said. "He might be interested in a partner."

"We're working on that," John said, not looking up from his data pad. "But we can't find him at the moment."

Jeff rolled his eyes and shook his head. John had many loves, and business, particularly Tracy Industries business, was one of them. It was up there after astronomy and space flight. Jeff was glad that one son showed promise in this area, but he hoped that the others would show an interest, too. He didn't want to make John bury his first love because he was the only one equipped to handle the conglomerate. He leaned back in his chair. "I have some of my legal team checking into the intellectual property laws and how they might apply in this case. Of course, they won't be able to actually do anything until they talk to Dr. Sugimoto, but they can get a head start on the actual legal precedents that might be involved."

"You think he could actually win a lawsuit?" Virgil asked, flinging himself down on the sofa.

"I'm not sure, but if he's willing to work with us, we'll be willing to work with him." Jeff tapped a stylus on his chin. "We'll have to see what applications we could find for it in our divisions, of course. Might be something useful in examining exteriors of spacecraft while in flight... we'll just have to wait and see."

"Is all this," Scott made a sweeping motion with his hand, "because of Alan's problems with Lee? An attempt to maybe change Lee's mind about us, about Alan? Or is it just a way to get our hands on the technology so we can counteract it?"

The other three men looked up at him for a moment, then Jeff shook his head. "No, Scott. I'll admit we need a way to counteract that new photographic system, but there are other ways for us to get the information we need. This, however, is probably the most forthright of those methods, and it would have other benefits for all involved." He sighed. "We can't change Lee's mind about us or about Alan; yet we _can_ make sure he knows _all_ sides of our character, not just the 'rich and famous' part. But I don't want him or his father to feel beholden to us personally. That's why I'm pursuing this on a corporate level."

"How will our people explain the sudden interest in him and his invention?"

"Tracy Industries is always on the lookout for new, innovative technology," John said, laying aside his data pad. "The film taken of International Rescue clued us in to this particular innovation and we want to make sure of its true provenance before investigating it further."

Virgil and Scott glanced at each other then Virgil asked, "Provenance?"

"Origin."

"Oh. Why didn't you just say 'origin' in the first place?"

John rolled his eyes, muttered something foreign, unintelligible and probably profane, then picked up his data pad again. Jeff chuckled. He took up the thread of conversation.

"From what research we've been able to do – Gordon's been a big help on this; keeps him from getting bored he says – the companies who are handling this have not been creating a lot of buzz about it; at least, not until now."

"Why do you think that is?" Virgil asked.

"Dr. Sugimoto." Jeff's stylus now beat a light tattoo on his desk top. "Until they can cement their claim to the technology, they don't want to make a splash. It's almost a race to the patent office. Once we discover what kind of documentation he has to prove his claim, then the international authorities will have to investigate further. They tend to frown at intellectual property theft." He shrugged. "But... we have to find the man, and make contact."

Virgil and Scott glanced at each other, and a question passed silently between them. With a half shrug and movement of his head, Scott motioned toward the office door and, by extension, the outside. Virgil looked in that direction, as if staring through the walls to the pool area, then he sighed. "Uh, Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"It seems that Brains has some sort of inside info on this. Don't know where he got it, but – from what I could understand from his notes – he was working on a possible countermeasure..."

Virgil got no farther because Jeff had flung the stylus down on the desk, and was on his feet. "Where is he? I told him he was off-duty..."

"Dad!" Scott called. Jeff stopped on his way out the door. "Don't go after him. The only reason we know about it is that we found his sketches. They were lying on his lap... out by the pool, where he's taking a nap. A nap so solid that he didn't stir when Virge picked up his sketch pad or when he put it back. So his body's off-duty but his mind... you know he can't switch it off. He's got to do something – like Gordon when he's in Five. He'd go crazy from boredom if he couldn't at least _think_ about a problem."

Jeff thought for a moment, then huffed out a frustrated breath. He turned around, and returned to his desk, all but flinging himself into his seat. Picking up his stylus again, he absently turned it around and around in his fingers. At last he said, "You're right, of course. Trying to keep Hiram from thinking and planning is like trying to keep him from stuttering – next to impossible. As long as he's getting the physical rest he needs, I'll back off. But I wish he'd just find a good book to read!"

Even John joined in on the laughter that followed. "You know what happened the last time you recommended a 'good book' to him, Dad," Virgil said. "He kept going on and on about how unreal it all was and how the Nautilus would never work, and..."

"Okay, okay," Jeff said testily, putting up his hands. "I was wrong to suggest Jules Verne. But there's got to be _something_ out there that he could read and enjoy."

"No fiction that I can think of, Dad," John said, shaking his head. "He has very little ability to 'suspend his disbelief'."

"Yeah, Dad. Just remember who it was that read the standard fairy tales to Fermat."

Jeff groaned. "And I _never_ should have let Gordon do that. The questions that boy asked afterwards..."

Just then, the vidphone rang, the strains of "Rule, Brittania!" sounding out.

"Oops, it's Penny!" Scott said quickly, with a grin on his face. "C'mon, guys. We'd better scram."

John and Virgil both extricated themselves from their seats, and quickly followed Scott out. John turned to his father at the door and said, "Later, Dad."

"Later, John." Once the room was cleared of his former tax deductions, Jeff reached over and, smiling, answered Penelope's call.

"Hello there, Penny!" he said jovially. "Nice of you to call! Though it's..." he glanced at his watch, "11 p.m. over there. You don't usually call this late, if you can help it."

"Hullo, Jeff," Penelope said, a small smile crossing her features. "I'm glad to speak with you, but it's really Kyrano and Onaha I must reach. Are they available?"

Jeff blinked a couple of times before replying, "Uh, yeah. Sure. Let me get them." He reached over to press a switch on the intracomplex communication system. "Kyrano? Onaha?"

Kyrano's pleasant, puzzled face appeared on the comm screen. "Yes, Mr. Tracy?"

"Lady Penelope for you on line one."

Kyrano's expression went from puzzled to worried in a blink. "Thank you, Mr. Tracy. I will attend to her ladyship's call at once."

The picture cut off and Jeff turned back to Penelope. "Anything you can tell me about, Pen?"

She sighed. "I can't give you any details yet, Jeff. Not until I've spoken with Kyrano and Onaha. But I can tell you this much: Tin-Tin is with me at Foxleyheath right now and there's been an... incident at her school."

xxxx

"Hey, Fermat," Qaeshon said the two boys, along with A.J., walked back to the dorms. "Thanks for playing that game of pinball with me. I really needed the distraction."

"Y-You're welcome," Fermat replied, grinning. "But the only r-reason you won is 'cause I've got this c-cast on."

"Riiiiight," Qaeshon drawled, nodding sagely. "Keep telling yourself that. Uh-huh."

"I've got a long way to go just to be a challenge at all – to either of you!" A.J. said ruefully. "Still, it was fun."

"And that's what m-matters," Fermat replied firmly.

The three of them sauntered up the walk along the front of the dorms. Day had darkened into night, and the lamps along the walkway were on, their tall poles and beveled glass evoking the days when it was gas, not electricity, that powered them. A breeze disturbed the fallen oak leaves, which scuttled across the access road, scraping sharp edges along the tarmac. Fermat tripped over a buckle in the cement, one caused by a tree root that had cracked the slab. Qaeshon and A.J. caught him, righting him, and he murmured a sheepish thanks. None of them felt particularly inclined to do their homework, though – with it being Monday – they had quite a lot.

As they passed the darkened space between Chetwood and Birchwood, the trio was startled by loud laughter ringing out, two or three voices mixed. The boys stopped in their tracks; peering into the shadows to see who or what was there. In a moment, three older boys walked out into the light: Devdan, Will Shultz and a senior that none of them knew.

"Greetings!" Dev said merrily. "I hope we have not startled you."

"Nah," Fermat said, waving his good hand dismissively. "We're g-good."

"And here I thought we'd made you jump," Will said, grinning. "Have to be careful after dark, you know. Can't let the bogeyman get you."

Fermat glanced at Qaeshon, who was looking off into the distance, an undecipherable look on his face. Fermat started to turn back and scowl at Will, but Kay's eyes grew wide, and he snagged the casted arm with a firm hand. "We gotta go talk to Mr. Mag, right now!" he cried. He tugged, turning around. "Come on! Now! It's important! You, too, A. J.! Let's _go_!"

The two younger roommates exchanged looks, and A.J. shrugged. "See you later, D-Dev!" Fermat called as he hurried off, trying to catch up with a rapidly moving Qaeshon.

"What's this all about?" A.J. asked as he caught up with Kay and made the older boy slow.

"I remembered what was so screwy about Pierce," Qaeshon said. He turned to Fermat. "Think about it, Brain. Think! What were those losers saying... doing when you chased them off? Think, Brain!"

Fermat's brows knit together and he slowed to a walk as he thought back to that night. Qaeshon jogged facing him, his back to their destination. A.J. walked beside his roommate, watching Fermat's expression, his own face serious.

"Oh!" The eyes behind the thick glasses went wide. "You're right, K-Kay. Damn! You're r-right! Pierce... that laugh... he was one of the guys who m-messed with you!"

"Hallelujah! The light dawns!" Qaeshon turned around and beckoned to his friends. "Come on! We've got to tell Mr. Mag. There's no time to waste!"

Fermat nodded, and the trio picked up the pace as they headed towards the security office.

_

* * *

Where is Sugi? How does Pierce fit into all of this? What's going on with Tin-Tin? Will Jeff be able to help Dr. Sugimoto? Will Alan and Fermat be friends again? And will we see any more of those mystery assailants? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	42. Unsavory Business

_Author's note: _More unraveling. A.J. and Alan talk, and things... happen. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to her and Lillehafrue for being sounding boards.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan opened the door to his room to stand face-to-face with Dom, who was obviously going out. 

"Hey, Alan. Got a call from Mr. Magnuson," Dom explained. "He's got some questions to ask me. Sounds like they got a break in the case."

"Really?" Alan said, eyes widening.

"Yeah." The two boys swapped places, then Dom paused. "Hey, will you come with me? We're not supposed to walk around alone at night and, truthfully, I'd feel better with a friend along."

Alan gave a half-shrug. "Sure. I'll walk over with you. Won't be the first time I've been there today." He stepped back outside the room and Dom locked the door behind them.

"I saw Mr. Culp come over to your table," Dom said casually.

"Yeah. Mr. Mag sent him 'cause they had some questions about Sugi," Alan said. He put his hands in his jacket pockets and shrugged. "I wasn't in any trouble."

"Sugi?" Dom asked, frowning. "What about him?"

Alan took in a deep breath and sighed, looking down at his shoes. "I'm really not supposed to talk about it, okay? Mrs. Belvedere asked me not to."

"Oh!" Dom looked and sounded surprised. There was quiet between them for the rest of the walk to the security office.

Both Mr. Culp and A.J. glanced up as they came in. The security officer smiled wryly. "Weren't you here just a little while ago, Alan?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Just walking Dom over. New rules and all."

"Good man." Mr. Culp got up and opened the door for Dom. Alan was surprised to see a New Ashford police officer in Mr. Magnuson's office before Dom entered and the door closed behind him. Mr. Culp sat back down again, and Alan took a seat, stretching his legs out, leaning his head back and folding his arms.

He had only been sitting for a few moments when he realized that A.J. was before him. "Uh, Alan?" the freshman asked. "D'you think you could walk me back to the dorm? I've got to get my homework done..."

Alan shrugged. "Yeah, sure. No problem. Fermat in there?"

"Yeah. Him and Qaeshon."

"Cool. They can walk back together then." He stood, shook down his pants legs and motioned to the younger boy. "Let's go. I've got homework to do, too."

The night was cool and clear, with a light breeze. Not quite cool enough for mist to curl around their faces as they breathed, but enough to chill ears and noses. They had walked in silence as far as Birchwood, when A.J. spoke up.

"What's going on between you and Fermat?"

Alan glanced at the younger boy, whose face was turned toward him, expecting an answer. He shook his head and said nothing for a few more strides, then he took a deep breath and huffed it out forcefully.

"I... I did something stupid, and Fermat got pissed at me," he said. "But I apologized for it, and sincerely, too. He wouldn't let it go. Still hasn't let it go, from the cold shoulder he gave me today."

"Ah."

They walked on some more, then Alan asked, "Why did you want to know?"

A.J. shrugged. "Just curious." He gave Alan another, long expectant look. "Do you and Fermat fight a lot?"

Alan shook his head. "Nah. But when we do, well... it's usually over something big - something stupid I've done." He smiled ruefully. "And Fermat's usually right." Jamming his hands further into his jacket pockets, he murmured, "But not this time." Glancing over at his companion, he said in a clearer voice, "I apologized. And I meant it. Now the ball's in his court."

The younger boy nodded. "Okay," was all he said.

They walked a little further, then Alan asked, "What was going on in there?" He jerked his head back towards one shoulder to indicate their starting point.

A.J. thought for a moment. "Well, I guess I can tell you. Y'know how Kay was frustrated because there was something he couldn't remember today?"

"Yeah."

"He remembered it. He remembered the sound of the creeps who assaulted him as they ran off laughing. And he was able to identify one of the laughs."

Alan perked up at this news. "Really? Whose?"

"That creep at the dishwasher, Pierce."

"Pierce?" Alan's stride slowed as he turned this item over and over in his head. "I wonder... Sugi seemed awfully tight with him..."

"You think Sugi has some connection to those guys who attacked Kay?" A.J. asked, tilting his head and giving Alan a thoughtful frown.

Alan shrugged. "Don't know, but... well, I guess I wouldn't put it past him. He might not be involved in the actual attacks; in fact, he probably isn't. He's too well known on campus."

"So, how do you figure he might be involved?"

"Wish I knew."

By this time they had reached Maplewood. "I'd better get inside and get my homework done," A.J. said. "Thanks for walking with me. I'll see you tomorrow."

"No problem, A.J. See you at lunch."

A.J. mounted the steps. Alan gave him a quick wave, then turned and headed back toward his own dorm, hands back in his pockets, going over just how his old roommate might be involved with the attackers. _I can't believe that Pierce is the guy behind this; he just doesn't seem to have the smarts for it. If he did, why is he working washing dishes here? And who is working with him? Steve? Some of the other guys on the soccer team? Would Kay recognize them? Dom's on the yearbook; he probably would have recognized the creeps if they're students. It just doesn't seem to fit._

He paused for a moment, glancing off in the direction of the security office, then sighed. _I guess I'd better mention Pierce and Sugi to Mr. Mag, especially since I don't know if Zave did._ He shook his head. _At this rate, I'm never going to get my homework done..._

His decision made, Alan picked up the pace, striding briskly past the dorms. As he walked beside Chetwood, he heard running steps pounding behind him and turned to find a breathless Ralph catching up with him.

"Alan!" Ralph slowed, panting. "Those guys! The guys who beat on Dom!" He stopped, breathing heavily, leaning over.

"What, Ralph?" Alan asked, frowning in concern. "What about them?"

"Dev... Devdan Israni," Ralph huffed out, looking up sideways at Alan. "I saw... I saw some guys taking him... taking him off into the... into the woods... towards the Hollow. I... I came to get Mr. Mag."

"Dev? Why Dev?"

Ralph shook his head. "Don't know. Gotta get help."

Alan had made a decision without even realizing it. "Yeah. Go. Get Mr. Mag. I'll see if there's anything I can do to help Dev."

Ralph nodded, and the two parted ways. Alan sprinted off toward the playing fields, while Ralph jogged along toward the security office... until he knew that Alan was out of sight. Then he stopped, closing his eyes briefly, a look of misery and anxiety on his face. He turned back toward his dorm, angrily jamming his fists in his pockets and walking quickly up the sidewalk.

xxxx

"Damn, it's dark," Alan muttered as he slowed, entering the wooded area. "Should've brought a flashlight." He shook his head at his own stupidity. _I can't believe that I've done this. It's like a knee-jerk reaction; jump in, look later. Is this why Dad wants me to finish school... besides the requirements that say I have to? So I can learn not to pull stupid stunts like this?_ He stopped walking, and shook his head again. _I need to wait for Mr. Mag. I'm not going to find Dev walking around in the..._

His thoughts suddenly stopped as he heard something – a voice crying out, faint and nearly indistinguishable as to accent. Standing perfectly still, he listened intently to see if the sound would repeat itself. The slight breeze rustled the leaves both on the ground and in the trees, and he tuned it out, straining to hear. _There it is again! Someone's shouting!_ Thoughts of waiting for back up vanished, and he began to slowly pick his way toward the source of the sound.

It took less time than he thought it would to get to the Hollow. There was a small fire in the central pit, and he brought himself to a complete stop, peering through the gaps in the surrounding foliage to ascertain who was in the clearing and where they were. The flickering flames did little to reveal anything from where he stood, so he crept along quietly, testing his footing as he did to keep from slipping. Sparks streamed in the breeze, scattering on the bare earth to glow momentarily and fade out. The fire crackled slightly, its wavering glow throwing light to various spots, but exposing nothing. He moved again, as silently as he could, feeling more and more uneasy. _Ralph said the Hollow. Those shouts came from this direction. There's a fire here, so someone must be around somewhere. But where?_

At last, he got close to one of the taller, termite ridden trunks; a sudden gust sent the flickering light that way, and he stifled a gasp. A pair of sneakers and the bottoms of a pair of dark slacks showed for a split second. _Dev!_ he thought. He moved forward slowly, scanning what he could see of the hollow, then, satisfied that the only other person around was whoever was leaning against that trunk, he stood and hurried over.

"Dev," he whispered as he hugged the side of the smooth, rotting bole. "It's Alan. I'm here to help!" He felt the bark-free sides for rope, for whatever might be holding Devdan in place. Puzzled, he stepped around to where he had seen the feet and found... no one.

Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind by someone taller and stronger than himself. The stale smell of cigarette smoke overpowered the woody scent of the fire as he was held in a full-nelson. He instinctively kicked behind him, aiming for the shins of his attacker, but before he could connect, the light of the fire was eclipsed, and someone else slammed a fist into his abdomen. As he doubled over, gasping for breath, he was aware of someone speaking.

"Sorry that you came all the way out here for nothing, Tracy," a familiar, hated voice said. "Dev's not here. In fact, he never was here. But you are now, and just where we want you."

xxxx

Ralph slung his jacket across his bed, and slumped down in his desk chair. He rubbed his face with both hands, shaking his head. Then he got up and strode toward the window, parting the blinds and looking out.

Jason watched his roommate as Ralph sighed heavily, jammed his hands in his trouser pockets and paced back across the room again, a black look on his face.

"What's eating you?" the redhead asked, giving Ralph a challenging look.

"Nothing," was Ralph's sullen, automatic response.

"Right. Tell me another one." Jason rose from his desk chair and planted himself in the middle of the room, arms folded, right in front of Ralph. "What is with you? Have a falling out with your pal, Sugi?"

"No." Ralph shot back, turning from Jason and pacing back the shortened distance to the door. From the door, to Jason, and back, then something seemed to break inside Ralph, and he turned to his roommate with a worried, guilty look. "I can't..." His shoulders slumped. "I can't let him do it."

"Let who do what?"

Ralph licked suddenly dry lips and let go of a deep, heavy sigh. "I can't let Sugi... I can't let him hurt Alan."

Jason's eyes widened. "Hurt Alan? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sugi got kicked out of school today. He tested positive for steroids. He was on a sports scholarship, and the test results meant that he lost it. So... he left. Went to his friend, Pierce."

"Pierce? The dishwasher guy?"

"Yeah. Pierce supplies Sugi's steroids... and mine."

"Yours?" Jason's mouth had dropped open. "You... you're on steroids."

Ralph put up his hands. "No! It's not like that! I... I only tried them once, this weekend. Sugi said it'd help me with the soccer. He said..." His head dropped in shame. "He said that if I wanted to keep hanging with him and his group, I had to do it." He looked up again at Jason, a pleading look on his face, his hands spread wide. "What was I going to do? You know how much this soccer means to my dad! Besides, Pierce said that the stuff he sells... it can't be detected."

Jason shook his head slowly. "I... you... this is unbelievable! How gullible are you? What kind of idiot believes that kind of lie?"

"Jase, please!" Ralph begged. "We can talk about what an idiot I am later. Right now... we've got to stop Sugi."

"Stop him from hurting Alan?"

"Yeah." Ralph scooped up his jacket and started to don it. "He sent me to find Alan; said to give him a song and dance about those creeps who attacked Dom hauling Devdan Israni to the Hollow." He opened Jason's closet, pulled out his friend's coat, and tossed it to the redhead. "We've got to tell Mr. Mag. I can't... I wouldn't be able to live with myself if Sugi... if Sugi does to Alan what he wants to do."

Jason stared at his roommate in disbelief, even as he slipped his jacket on over his arms. "What's he planning?"

Ralph licked his lips again. "You don't want to know."

"Okay." Jason reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out a flashlight. At Ralph's questioning look, he said, "Just in case."

"Good idea." Ralph took one from his closet. "Come on! It's getting late and Alan's probably out to the Hollow by now."

The pair left the room, and hustled noisily down the stairs to the lobby. Taking the steps outside two at a time, they hared off toward the security office. Just as they got to Chetwood, they met Fermat, Qaeshon, and Dom, who had finished with their interviews.

"Hey, guys," Qaeshon said, smiling. "What's going on?"

Jason stopped his headlong rush, and grabbed Ralph by the sleeve. "Hold up!"

"What?" Ralph cried, tugging to get away. "There's no time!"

"Wh-What's up?" Fermat asked, frowning with concern.

"It's Alan," Jason said, speaking quickly. "Sugi's lured him out to the Hollow and wants to beat him up or something."

"Huh? Where'd you hear th-this?"

"Ralph, give me your flashlight." Jason put out his hand. Ralph hesitated, and Jason grabbed it from his roommate. "Not much time. Ralph told me about Sugi and his plans for Alan." He glanced at Dom, Fermat and Qaeshon whose puzzled, concerned gazes flicked back and forth between the redhead and his roommate. "Dom, you go with Ralph. Get to Mr. Mag pronto. You two, come with me. We can try to head Alan off." He gave the flashlight to Qaeshon.

"Just the three of us?" Kay asked, looking at the light in his hands, then at Jason, his face showing his doubt.

"We'll see who we can pick up on the way," Jason said. He stopped to take a deep breath, then asked Ralph, "Sugi won't take on Alan alone. Who would he have with him?"

Ralph thought for a moment, then replied, "Pierce, definitely. Maybe Steve Ulrich; he was part of the group and lives close. There are a couple of guys from the laundry... I don't know how many."

"Pierce?" Dom said. His concerned frown turned into a scowl. "He's one of the guys who attacked Qaeshon and me." He moved toward Ralph, and tapped him on the upper arm. "Let's go. Mr. Mag needs to know this."

"Come on, you two," Jason said. "Let's go. We may not be able to help, but we've got to try."

Qaeshon nodded. "Okay. Let's swing by the gym. Zave may be there. He'll help."

"This isn't very a very w-w-w-w... smart move," Fermat said, looking uneasy as he followed in his friends' footsteps. "We should wait for M-Mr. Magnuson."

"Fermat," Jason said as the trio broke into a loping run, "sometimes you think too much."

"You didn't do much waiting or thinking when you came to _my_ rescue," Kay added.

"Right," Jason said firmly. "So, let's make like the Thunderbirds. To the rescue!"

The younger boy shook his head, and followed his friends.

_

* * *

What's happening to Alan? Will his friends get to him in time? What will Jeff do? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	43. Uncivil Behavior

_Author's note: _Dilemmas of both Tin-Tin and Alan, and family reactions. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and for being a sounding board. Sorry this took so long, but as I said in my profile, I had this and _Overtures_ on hiatus during November so I could focus on NaNoWriMo. Next chapter up soon.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

There was a knock on Jeff's office door. 

"Come in!" he called. He was certain he knew who it was, and he was right. A troubled-looking Kyrano and Onaha entered, hand in hand. He gave them both an encouraging smile, and waved towards the sofa, indicating that they should sit. Then he came out from behind the desk and sat in one of the chairs nearby. "Lady Penelope told me that there'd been an 'incident' at Tin-Tin's school, but nothing more than that."

"It is true," Kyrano said. He sat ramrod straight on the sofa's edge, and glanced at Onaha, whose eyes were a little puffy and red. "Our Tin-Tin has been asked to leave the school."

Jeff frowned, concerned. "What? Why?"

"It seems that there was a... a fight, of sorts," Onaha said, quietly. Kyrano put his other hand on hers, and squeezed it gently. "The details are sketchy; it seems that one of the older girls said something rude to Tin-Tin, a veiled insult. Then the girl fell to the ground. No one seems to know if she tripped or was pushed."

"She accused Tin-Tin of pushing her, and..." Kyrano winced, "she slapped our daughter. Tin-Tin retaliated..."

"And that's all it took," Jeff said, nodding in understanding.

"Two of Tin-Tin's friends – Amelie and Keiko – witnessed the incident, and told the headmistress that she hadn't pushed the girl," Onaha said, her face creased in a concerned, hurt expression. "But it was the word of a peer's daughter – and her friends – against three foreigners." She glanced down. "Our daughter does not have parents who are famous, or influential. Even had she done nothing, I fear she still would have been asked to leave."

Jeff shook his head and made a disgusted noise. "I can't say I'm surprised. I thought that the school was snobbish when we visited, but Lady Penelope recommended it..."

"Her Ladyship is livid," Kyrano said, a slight smile finally breaking through. "She has made it very clear that she is cutting all ties with the school, and will encourage her fellow graduates to do the same." His smile widened a touch. "The language she used to describe the headmistress... I did not realize she knew such words."

Jeff snorted a laugh. "Lady Penelope is constantly surprising me like that." He leaned forward and made eye contact with each of them. "So, what do you want to do about this situation?"

The couple exchanged glances, then Kyrano said, "Lady Penelope has said that she is delighted to have Tin-Tin stay with her until we can find a new school for her, and has offered to help us look for one in England. But..." he paused, and sighed, "we want our girl to come home. She was doing well in her satellite classes, and truthfully, we miss her."

"I see," Jeff replied, looking thoughtful. "I understand your feelings, but – as I recall - part of the reason why you decided to have Tin-Tin go to school abroad was so she could meet other girls. Learn to get along with different sorts of people." He stroked his chin for a moment, then said, "How would you feel about sending her to school in the States? Maybe somewhere close to Wharton?"

Kyrano and Onaha glanced at each other again, then Onaha said, "We appreciate everything you've done for us, Mr. Tracy, and for paying for Tin-Tin's education. Could we discuss it between us and give you our decision later?"

Jeff nodded. "Of course. And whatever you decide, I'll be happy to step up and provide the funds." He smiled and reached out to pat Kyrano on the upper arm. "You're like family, and I can't remember how we ever did without you two."

"Thank you, Mr. Tracy," Kyrano said with a solemn nod.

The two men rose, and Kyrano helped his wife to her feet. "Brains and I are going to Wharton this weekend to see Alan and Fermat compete," Jeff said. "We can plan to stop in England and pick up Tin-Tin either on the way there, or on our way back."

"That would be helpful," Onaha replied gratefully.

"I'll make the arrangements with Lady Penelope," Jeff offered, smiling. "Kyrano, Onaha, don't worry about this. We'll work it out, I promise."

Kyrano smiled a little and nodded his head quickly. "Thank you again, Mr. Tracy." He glanced at his watch. "We had better prepare lunch."

"I'll see you soon then."

The Belegants left as they came in, hand-in-hand, and Jeff returned to his desk. He picked up his stylus and tapped it against his chin, then reached over to pick up the phone. "If there's one thing I'm going to do to this school," he muttered, "is call my lawyers and get my money back."

xxxx

Alan forced himself to stop trying to breathe, and suddenly found himself able to. He filled his lungs, his eyes closed. _How do I get out of this? C'mon, Alan, think! You know Scott showed you how!_

He could feel the alcohol and cigarette-laden breath of whoever was behind him warming his neck. _He's leaning in close, too close. Close enough for this!_ He slammed his head back, hoping that the hands linked behind his neck wouldn't keep him from his target.

They didn't. There was a crack, and a hoarse cry. "By noth!"

The grip loosened as his captor instinctively started to reach for his wounded nose. Alan made himself a dead weight, falling to his hands and knees, sliding out of what was left of the nelson. And not a moment too soon; a swish in the air above his head heralded another punch, one that caught his original attacker in the gut if the sound was any indication. He saw the outline of Sugi's body, silhouetted by the fire behind. Getting one foot under him, he launched into a full tackle, catching Sugi around the waist. The surprise attack forced Lee back; he stumbled and fell to the ground, Alan's weight and position now forcing the breath from _his_ lungs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alan saw movement, someone coming towards him, a figure outlined in the orange glow. He rolled off of Sugi, backing away from this new threat, and ran smack into another person. Whoever he was, he wrapped his arms around Alan, trapping one arm and lifting him from the ground.

_Elbow to ribs; heels to shins._ The movements were automatic, the thoughts that governed them so fleeting that Alan barely knew they existed. The elbow caught the upper arm, near the shoulder; it loosened the hold just a bit. His right heel contacted not the shin, but the knee, which seemed to be a sensitive spot, as his attacker yelped and stumbled, freeing Alan. He caught a familiar face in his peripheral vision, too fast to process and identify at the moment. The "flee" instinct had kicked in mightily, and that's exactly what he did, pushing between the bushes and heading out into the dark, surrounding woods.

"Damn!" said the fourth attacker. "He kicks like a mule. Got my bad knee."

Sugi, who had finally recovered his breath, said, "Don't worry. We'll get him." He pulled a pair of dark goggles out of his jacket pocket and slid them on to cover his eyes. "Military surplus stores are great. You never know what you'll find there." He turned to the one whose nose had been hit. "Pierce, you stay here in case he comes back. Mickey, Steve, we three will fan out and find him. He can't see in the dark, but we can."

The three young men left the Hollow, Mickey limping along with an occasional muttered curse. Pierce sat down heavily with his back to the biggest stump, out of the light, his bloodied shirt held up to his nose.

Alan ran, directionless, heart pounding, plowing through whatever gaps he could make out in the darkness under the trees. Finally, his brain reasserted its dominance over his instincts and he slowed to a walk. He rubbed his abdomen where he'd been punched; it felt sore and the ache renewed itself with every deep breath. He began to look around, and realized that he had no idea where he was. Any familiar landmarks had been swallowed up by the darkness. He looked up, hoping to see some stars to perhaps guide him out of the shapeless maze that the woods had suddenly become. Only one or two could be seen through the canopy of branches.

_Gotta keep moving. I'll find a landmark soon. _He ducked beneath the low hanging pine branches, entirely too aware of the noise he was making._ Who else is working with Sugi? Who were the guys that grabbed me? I know the first one was Pierce, but who was the second? I know I've seen him before, but right now, I just can't place him._

He suddenly froze in mid-step, hearing a faint rustling behind him. When nothing jumped out at him, he carefully put his foot down, and began moving again, more cautiously this time. _Focus, Tracy. This is no time think about the whos and whys._

He glanced at his watch, pressing the button so it would light, and holding it close to his body to hide it.. _Getting close to curfew,_ he realized. _Dom will miss me soon enough, but who's going to tell him where I've gone? Damn, wish I had my phone! I could call Fermat..._ That's when he realized that he didn't need his phone. It was all he could do to keep from smacking himself in the head. _The watch! Why didn't I think of it before? I can call Gords, and get some idea which way to go. He can call Fermat, and let him know I'm in trouble. Just hope I can persuade him not to tell Dad._

With that he lifted the watch to his lips, pressed a button and whispered, "Gords? You there? Gordon?"

xxxx

In Thunderbird Five, Gordon was watching a surfing contest broadcast live from the Pipeline at Oahu. "C'mon, Tank, c'mon," he muttered at the surfer. "That's it... that's it... ohhh!" He jumped and flung his head back, pressing his hands against his forehead, then throwing them in the air. "You doofus! I could ride that wave in my sleep!"

His diatribe against his friend was cut off when he heard a beeping from one of the consoles. "Huh? What's that?" A new window popped up on the computer screen next to him. "Incoming call... from Alan?! All right!" Pressing a few keys, he sat back and said, "Hey, what's up, bro! What's wrong with your picture? You have a power outage or something?"

"Shhh!" Alan hissed. "Keep it down!" He glanced around him. "I'm in trouble here, Gords, and I need your help."

Gordon frowned. "Trouble? What kind of trouble? Are you okay? I'd better patch you through to Dad."

"No! Don't!" Alan stumbled along in the dark, still trying to listen, walk, and talk to his brother at the same time. "Listen, Gords. I'm in the woods at Wharton, near the Hollow, and I've gotten myself turned around. I need to know how to get back to campus... and I need to know if there's anyone around me, too."

"Okay, okay," Gordon said as he pulled up a real-time satellite view of the East Coast and began to zoom in on Alan's GPS signal. He glanced over at the communication bank that would put him in contact with the island, and grimacing, switched it on, leaving the speakers to Five mute. "What's going on, Alan? What the hell are you doing out in the woods so late? You're going to miss curfew, and Dad'll hear about that, and you'll really be in trouble."

On the island, Jeff was surprised to see the comm feed from Five pop up in his computer screen. "Gordon? What's going on?"

"I know, I know! It's a long story, and I don't have time to tell it," Alan whispered. "Just help me out here. And I need you to patch me in to Fermat's watch, too. I'm gonna need his help, too."

Jeff hit the alarm button, bringing Scott, Virgil, and John on the run. A few moments later, Brains appeared, looking disheveled and carrying a pad of paper under his arm.

"What's the emergency, Dad?" Scott asked.

"I don't know; Gordon won't respond to my call," Jeff said, looking concerned.

Virgil glanced at John, who took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shuddering. Brains held up a finger for quiet. "Shh! L-Listen." The other men glanced at him as he listened intently for a moment, then said, "It's A-Alan."

"Turn up the gain, Dad," John said, his moment of reaction over and his training coming to the forefront. "Gordon must want us to hear Alan, but not for Alan to hear us."

"And open up an IM window, so you can tell Gordon whatever you need to," Virgil suggested.

Jeff nodded, turned up the volume, and set about instant messaging Thunderbird Five.

"This have anything to do with that Sugimoto kid?" Gordon asked. The screen was zeroing in on his brother. He overlaid a photo of the area taken in the daytime, then added an infrared filter. The result showed a moving blue dot, which was Alan's position, and five red dots, two of which were stationary, and three of which moved.

"Yeah, it does," Alan replied. He tripped over a root, and his flailing hand caught a fir branch. It helped steady him, but also made a rustling noise that sounded loud in his ears. He bit off an exclamation.

"Okay, Alan," Gordon said, as he examined the screen. "You're going northeast, away from the campus. You need to turn around and go to your left. Problem is, there are two dots – I guess they're people – between you and the playing fields. They're closing in on your position. There's a third who is – make that was – moving away from you. Do you have any way of telling which direction you're heading?"

"No, none."

Brains piped up. "The w-w-watch has a compass function. It's the b-blue button on the l-left hand side of the face."

Jeff typed that in, and watched as Gordon reacted to the beep of the message window's appearance. He came fully into range of the camera, read the note, and nodded. Then he glanced up at the camera, smiled, and gave a thumbs up.

"Hey, you're using that watch, right?"

"Duh!" Alan had stopped walking, frustrated with trying to keep everything going at once. "If I were using my phone, I'd call Fermat direct."

"Okay, okay! Sheesh!" Gordon said, shaking his head. "I asked because I remembered that the watch has a compass function. It's the blue button on the left side of the watch face."

Alan peered closely at the watch face, and fumbled with the button. A lighted LCD compass face appeared in place of his brother's face, and showed him which way was north. "Sweet!" he whispered, as he turned to orient himself. "Okay. Thanks!" He pressed the button again. "Now, patch me through to Fermat, please?" he murmured as he began to move toward the southwest.

"Okay. Be careful, Alan," Gordon cautioned.

"Always, Gords," was Alan's hushed reply.

"Remind him to put on the hologram!" John said, as he sat down on the edge of his father's desk.

"There's no time for that," Jeff countermanded, as he typed a line into the message box. "He'll have to go without visual, that's all."

Gordon saw his father's recommendation a split second before he buzzed Fermat. He made a hurried adjustment, and turned off the visual.

On the outer edge of the playing field, the little group of rescuers - augmented by Xavion and a couple of his older friends – were about to enter the woods when Fermat's watch vibrated.

"Augh!" he cried, shaking his good arm.

"Shh!" both Qaeshon and Jason hissed as they looked back at him.

"W-Wait!" he said, lifting his good wrist to the broken arm. The others paused, watching him. "I think Alan's c-calling me." The fingers at the end of his cast fumbled with the buttons for a moment, then... "Th-There!"

"Fermat?" Gordon's voice came over the tiny speaker.

"Gordon?" Fermat replied, puzzled. "I th-thought it was A-Alan."

"It is. He's in trouble, and I'm patching him through. But keep it down. He's trying to stay quiet."

Fermat bit back the "F-A-B" that almost came out, and instead said, "Understood."

"Connecting you, now."

"A-Alan?"

"Fermat!" Alan's voice came through clearly even though he was whispering. "Sugi decoyed me out here. I got away from him, but he's hunting me, him and a couple of his buddies."

"W-We know about the decoy," Fermat replied, keeping his voice low. "Wh-Where are you?"

"On my way back to campus. But I'm not sure how far out I am. I'm trying to bypass the..."

"Alan? Alan?!" Fermat glanced up, wide-eyed, at his companions, who had gathered around to listen.

"Shh." Alan hissed. "I think I hear them." He stopped in his tracks, listening intently to the noises around him. There was a slight rustle behind him and to his left.

The long pause concerned both those at Wharton, and those on the island. Gordon, who was keeping an eye on the satellite view he'd set up, drew in a sharp breath. "They're closing in," he muttered to himself.

"Fermat?" Alan's whisper sounded out. "I'm moving again. They aren't far behind me."

"I'd better warn him." But as Gordon prepared to cut in on the frequency, he noticed Alan was moving again. "He's moving again, Dad," he said aloud.

Jeff's IM message came up, asking, "Which direction?"

Gordon studied the screen again, and his eyes widened. "Back toward the Hollow. They're herding him back toward the Hollow."

"He's got to tell Fermat!" Virgil cried. "Gords needs to tell Fermat!"

Jeff glanced at John, who shook his head. "He can't, Virge. How is he going to explain it to his friends?"

"Damn!" Scott said, scowling. "I wish I were there! I'd teach that Sugi..."

"Shh!" Jeff said, glowering at his sons. "I want to hear!"

There was some quiet discussion at Fermat's end. Finally, Fermat whispered, "Alan? M-Meet us at the H-Hollow."

"I'll try," Alan replied. "I'm still turned around... hey!" The last word was loud. "Lemme go, you...oof!" The sound of fist hitting flesh was audible, and Fermat paled.

"Okay, Tracy." The members of the little group exchanged horrified glances as they heard Sugi's voice. "Enough hide and seek. Back to the fire."

"I've heard enough," Xavion said, nodding decisively. "We'll start at the Hollow." He glanced over the group, and let out a deep breath. "Kay, you stay put and wait for Mr. Mag. Tell him where we've gone."

Qaeshon opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. "Okay, Zave."

The older brother smiled at the younger. "Good man. Brain? You're with me. Everyone, be quiet, and douse your lights when I tell you." He glanced around at the faces, scared yet resolute. "Let's go."

"Thunderbirds are go," Jason muttered under his breath.

Back on the island, Jeff pointed to Scott. "Prep Tracy One." Scott nodded, and strode from the room.

Jeff got up, then turned to Virgil. "Submit a flight plan, and get me ground transport. I'm heading to Wharton." Virgil nodded once, then took his father's place behind the desk. Jeff glanced at Brains. "Brains, get ready. You're coming along."

Brains tried to nod, but the collar he wore stopped him. "R-Right!" he said, putting up a finger. He followed Scott out.

"John, ask Kyrano to pack a bag for me, then organize some storage totes." Jeff was gazing at his youngest son's portrait, his arms folded.

"Are you going to bring Alan back with you?" Virgil stopped what he was doing at John's question. Both of them looked at their father expectantly.

Jeff glanced over at his older sons. "If he's in any condition to come home, yes. That's my plan."

_

* * *

Will Alan get beat up more? Can his friends get to him in time? Will Jeff pull him from Wharton? Will the police catch Sugi and friends? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	44. Underestimated

_Author's note: _Alan in the clutches of his enemies. His friends act, and his family reacts. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and for being a sounding board. Short chapter, but more to come soon.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Fermat's breath rose in white, steamy puffs as he tried to keep up with Zave. The little group was making good progress along the path to the Hollow, but Fermat winced at the noise they made. The rustling as they brushed against the bare bushes, the slight scuffling of their feet on the dirt, even the muffled thudding of his own heartbeat sounded unbearably loud to him. In his head, he knew that they were actually making very little sound; trying to get his anxious perceptions in line with reality was the difficult part. 

"We're nearly there," Xavion hissed as he came to a stop, crouching on the pathway. "Douse your lights." He turned to Fermat, who was crouched beside him, trying to catch his breath. "Brain, can you tell what's going on now?"

Fermat lifted his good arm, and the boys gathered around to listen to the feed from his radio. There was a thud, accompanied by an "Oof!" Sugi could be heard saying, "Hold him there, Steve, but watch out for his feet." He added something that was muffled, up until the point where it became clear again, "...up the fire, Pierce." The small group glanced off in the direction of the Hollow, where there was a brightening.

"What are we gonna to do with him?" the voice was unfamiliar to all of the boys, and they glanced at each other.

"Don' you mean do to him?"

Zave frowned and whispered, "That's Pierce, but he sounds like he's got a bad head cold."

"Right," Sugi said, sounding clearer. "What are we going to do to him?"

"He's right near Alan," Jason muttered softly. There was another thud, and a groan, and Fermat closed his eyes and swallowed.

"What should we do to you, Tracy?" Sugi said, his smooth, cajoling voice sounding as if he were standing right next to them. "Smack you around some more? Or perhaps something more permanent?"

"I've heard enough," Zave whispered. "Jase, Nate, you two go around that way. Brain, Luke, you're with me. Do whatever you can to subdue them."

In the clearing, Alan was pressed face first against the tallest of the stumps, the one he'd originally thought Devdan Israni was fastened to. With one hand, Steve had Alan in a strong hammerlock, twisting his right arm back and up towards his shoulders, using his body weight to hold Alan firmly against the trunk. Steve's other hand was pressing hard on the back of Alan's head, smashing the younger boy's face up against what bits of rough bark remained.

Tiny grains of dirt were irritating Alan's eyes, making them water. His gut burned where he'd taken a kick out there in the dark, and he knew his knees were sliced up from falling to them after the kick. He was still trying to catch his breath, and Steve's heft and proximity made it impossible for him to push up, or to elbow his assailant.

"Why?" Alan asked, his words slurred. It was hard to talk with his lips and cheeks distorted. "I din't do anyting to you."

"You made me rat out a friend," Sugi said, coming close to Alan's face. "You ratted _me_ out, told the coaches that I was doing steroids. Now I've lost my scholarship. Do you know what that means to my father? Do you?!" His voice got louder, more irate. "Steve here, he was caught, too! His father threw him out of the house for it!"

"No' my faul'," Alan lisped. "You too' steroids. Your pro'lem. Your faul'."

Steve brought Alan's head back and slammed it hard against the stump. Alan groaned as the pain exploded in his cheekbone and spread throughout his face. "If you had kept your mouth shut, punk," Steve growled, punctuating his words with more abuse. "Shoulda kept your big..." _slam!_ "...mouth" _slam!_ "...shut!"

Alan saw stars with the second slam, and grayed out with the third. Blood trickled down from his scraped and abused cheek. He groaned again, and let out a sharp gasp as Steve tightened his grip on his wrist and pulled his arm up further.

"Hey, guys," Mickey said, moving over to where Sugi and Steve hovered around Alan. "Don't you think you're goin' a bit too far? I mean, at first it was just some harmless fun. And that gay kid; he deserved it. But this? You're gonna maim him for life, maybe kill him! That's bad mojo, kid."

"What the hell do you care, Mickey?" Sugi rounded on the older man, fists clenched, face contorted with rage. "You and Pierce, you're the ones got us hooked on this stuff! You're the ones who said you'd doctored it so it couldn't be detected. You promised us!" He stepped toward Mickey. "I'll do what I want with this S.O.B.!"

Pierce sighed, and stood, moving toward Lee even as Mickey stepped back. "Sugi, c'mon. Calm down. You've pounded on Tracy enough. Come back to my place and let's have some beer. I for one don't wanna mess with his old man, capice? Been there, done that." He lifted his hand to his nose, which was badly swollen. "Besides, I think I need to see a doctor."

Sugi made a rude gesture, then pointed toward one of the openings to the Hollow. "You go. You go off and go back to your miserable lives. You'll never be more than what you are now: a dishwasher and a laundry man. But me? I had it _all_, and Tracy here took it away." He turned back to Steve, who had been watching. "You with me, Steve?"

Alan felt Steve's weight shift as the older boy watched the confrontation between Sugi, Mickey, and Pierce. _It's now or never_, he thought. He slid his free hand carefully as close to his chest as he could, preparing to lever himself backwards with all the strength he had left.

But, before he could, there was a rustle in the bushes, and a familiar, welcome voice cried, "Now!" Suddenly there were shouts, and the weight on his back was lifted.

"Let go of him!" Fermat cried. He came running in, put his head down, and plowed into Steve's side. Surprised, Steve let go of Alan's arm, Fermat's momentum carrying them both a yard or two away. Alan pushed off and turned to see Steve trip over an exposed root and fall flat on his back. Nate, one of Zave's friends, pounced on Steve, pinning him with a wrestling hold. Fermat, who'd also fallen, picked himself up, adjusted his glasses, and went back to Alan.

"A-Alan! You okay?" Fermat asked, swinging one of the flashlights up to look at Alan's face.

Alan covered his eyes with a forearm. "I will be once you stop shining that thing in my eyes." He leaned back against the trunk. "You guys showed up in the nick of time, just like the cavalry."

"Cavalry? Hell, no, Pinky!" called a grinning Jason, who was helping Zave deal with Mickey. "We made like the Thunderbirds!"

Alan laughed wearily. "Fermat, gimme your light." Fermat handed it over, and Alan flashed it around the clearing. He frowned, and looked around again. "Hey, where's Sugi?"

Zave glanced at his friends, who had Pierce and Steve under control. "Hey, I thought you guys had Sugi!"

Nate and Luke both shook their heads. "I thought you had him!" Nate said.

Alan sagged back against the tree trunk, and slid to the ground. "Great. Just great. How are we gonna catch him now?"

xxxx

Lee Sugimoto made his way out of the Hollow. He had managed to sidestep Zave by pushing Mickey at his old teammate, and slipped away in the general confusion. _Gotta get away. Pierce left his car in the employees' lot. I have a key; I can take it and go. Call my dad, tell him a sob story; he'll believe me over anyone else. Yeah. That'll work._

He was so intent on making his plans that he didn't notice the security detail until it was too late.

"Whoa! Hold on there!" Mr. Magnuson said, grabbing Sugi's arm. "Let's see who we have here." He shone his flashlight into Lee's face, then smiled. "Lee Sugimoto. We've been looking for you, son."

Lee was not to be caught napping twice. "And I've been looking for you, Mr. Magnuson. There are three guys trying to beat up Alan Tracy back there in the Hollow. I knew I couldn't take them all on..." His voice trailed off when he saw Ralph Santiago standing beside Qaeshon Lewis.

"That's an interesting story you've got there, Lee," Mr. Magnuson said. "Why don't you stay right here with Mr. Culp and this officer, and we'll get your statement at the security office? After we've found Alan."

Lee looked back and forth between Mr. Magnuson, Mr. Culp and the boys, counting the number of New Ashford police officers who were with them. He sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat, and said, "Yes, sir."

"Good." Mr. Mags turned to the other officers and said, "Let's go."

xxxx

"Dad! Let us go, too!" Scott fervently pleaded.

Jeff was ready to leave, even though Alan's watch was still transmitting. What they were hearing was enough to make his blood boil, and he was thinking dark and uncharitable thoughts toward Lee Sugimoto, his father, and the school in general. In thought, he was calling them every name he could think of, but outwardly he maintained an attitude of tense, stony calm, like a spring that's wound too tightly.

"Sorry, boys, but I can't leave base unmanned," Jeff said firmly. "I'll need you to keep me posted on the situation, and to forward the call from the school when it comes."

"But, Dad!" Virgil cried. "We... we want a piece of these bastards!"

Jeff let a short breath out his nose. "I know, Virgil. And I'd like to give you that opportunity. But it would be better if you stay here. My excuse for heading to the States will look plausible if it's only Brains and me going." He smiled grimly. "Besides, we'd be too late to actually _do_ anything. By the time we get there, Lee Sugimoto and his gang should be behind bars."

All of the Tracys turned toward the speaker in time to hear Fermat call, "Let go of him!"

Jeff smiled, and nodded at Brains. "Hackenbacker saves the day... again."

"Th-Th-That's my boy," Brains quietly replied, his pride very evident in his tone.

The broadcast continued and Fermat's voice could be heard saying, "A-Alan! You okay?"

Jeff held his breath for a moment, then closed his eyes when Alan replied, "I will be once you stop shining that thing in my eyes."

All of the men in the room relaxed, and John uttered an audible, "Whew!"

Then Alan's voice could be heard again. "You guys showed up in the nick of time, just like the cavalry."

"Cavalry? Hell, no, Pinky!" another, obviously teasing voice called from a distance.

"Pinky?" Virgil asked, glancing at his brothers and father. Scott shrugged as if to say, "Don't ask me."

The voice continued, cut off a little by Virgil's comment. "...like the Thunderbirds!"

The Tracys chuckled, and Jeff headed for his office door. "On that note, boys, I'm off. Talk to you soon!"

"Bye, Dad." "See you later, Dad." "Fly safely, Dad, Brains."

Jeff nodded and left, Brains in his wake. The three young men turned their attention back to the broadcast just in time to hear Alan say, "...great. How are we gonna catch him now?"

xxxx

Mickey, Steve and Pierce were seated on one of the fallen logs around the campfire. Jason, Nate, and Luke stood guard over them, while Fermat and Zave checked Alan's injuries.

"You're gonna have a couple of shiners, Pinky," Xavion bluntly stated. "I think the school will want to send you to the hospital for that cheekbone, make sure nothing's broken."

Alan sighed. "Wonderful. My father will have my hide..."

"Y-Your dad will be h-happy to see you're okay," Fermat said. He sat down beside Alan. "M-Mr. Mags should be here soon."

Alan frowned, then winced and hissed as the expression sent a sharp pain through his cheekbone. "Did you send someone back to get him?"

"No," Fermat explained, shaking his head. "Ralph told J-Jason what happened, and we m-met up with them as they were heading to the s-security office. Dom took R-Ralph there to a-a-a... tell M-Mr. Mags, then we came here, picking up Z-Zave and his fr-fr-fr... buddies on the way."

"We left Kay near the mouth of the woods to tell Mr. Mags where we'd gone," Zave added. He glanced up and around. "Hope he gets here soon."

As if on cue, there was a rustle of bushes, and a voice calling, "Alan? Fermat? Xavion?"

"We're over here, Mr. Magnuson!" Xavion shouted back.

Within moments the clearing was full of uniformed men. Mr. Magnuson and Officer Vega came over to where Alan was sitting. "How're you doing, Alan?" the security officer said.

"I've been better," Alan admitted wearily. "But I'd have been a lot worse if Fermat and Zave and Jase hadn't come to the rescue." He shifted, trying to get his feet under him to stand, but Mr. Magnuson put a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay put, Alan. I've put in a call to EMS. They'll be here soon."

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" Officer Vega said. He glanced back at the Steve, Mickey, and Pierce. "Who are these guys, and what did they want with you?"

Alan sighed, and began to tell his tale. When he got to the part where he had used his watch to call for help, he omitted the bit about contacting Gordon first, and just said that he'd called Fermat.

"Let me see that," Mr. Magnuson said. Fermat held up his good arm, and the security officer shone his flashlight on it. "A two-way wrist radio, huh? Just like Dick Tracy."

The two boys exchanged glances, and Fermat asked, "Who?"

"I don't remember having any relatives named 'Dick'," Alan said, sounding uncertain.

Mr. Magnuson chuckled. "Don't worry about it, boys. It was before your time."

"Oh. Okay." It was obvious that Alan was still puzzled. He took a deep breath, letting out a little groan as he did and rubbing his abdomen. "Mr. Magnuson? What about Sugi... I mean, Lee Sugimoto? He was behind this whole thing tonight..."

"Don't you worry about him, Alan." The security officer glanced up at Officer Vega, and nodded toward the EMS workers who had just arrived on the scene. "He came out of the woods just as we were heading in. Tried to give us a song and dance about looking for us to come help you. I left him with Mr. Culp and an Ashford officer. He won't get away."

Alan sighed and relaxed against the tree. "It's over," he whispered as Mr. Magnuson stepped back to let the EMS team examine Alan.

_

* * *

What happens to Alan now? When will Jeff get there? What will he say? Will he pull Alan from Wharton? Will Brains pull Fermat out? What will happen to Sugi and friends? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	45. Unhappy Campers

_Author's note: _The boys make plans. Jeff sees Alan. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and for being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Gordon turned off the recorder and sat back, relieved. His brother was safe and on the way to the hospital. Those who had been tormenting him were on their way to the police station, under arrest. Fermat was going, too, as a witness. He reached over and flicked a switch, turning off the mute to the speakers on Thunderbird Five, then sat up. "Hey, guys?" 

John and Scott were on their feet and to the desk in a heartbeat. There was some good natured wrangling about who was going to sit in their father's chair and, predictably, Scott won. He sat and leaned back, while John perched his rear on the edge of the desk, and Virgil, not feeling particularly competitive, joined them, standing in the background.

"What's up, Squirt?" Scott typed into the IM box.

"I've got the mute off, that's one thing," Gordon replied as he saw the message appear. "Fermat and Alan aren't transmitting anymore, so we're safe."

"Ah, good," Scott said aloud. He shook his head. "Man, that was one hairy scary scene back there."

"You're telling me!" Gordon replied. "I was sorta watching it all unfold via satellite and infrared images. I could see three of the guys closing in on Alan, and the fourth one sitting by the fire pit in the Hollow." He shook his head. "I should have known Pierce was involved."

"Pierce? Wasn't he the guy you wanted to room with at Wharton?" John asked.

"Yeah, he was. He was expelled for using steroids the year before I graduated." Gordon grimaced. "I was glad later that Dad put his foot down about rooming with Pierce, but I wasn't too pleased at the time. He was a big man on campus, a star athlete... but I guess sports was everything to him."

"And in trying to keep a competitive edge, he took the easier way, huh?" Virgil asked.

Gordon nodded. "Yeah. Don't know how Dad saw that in him; I sure didn't."

"Trust Dad's instincts, I always say," Scott said smugly.

"You do?" Gordon asked, giving his older brother a "tell me another one" look. "Since when?"

John raised a blond eyebrow, eying his brother with skepticism. "I must have been in Thunderbird Five whenever you've said it."

"And where was I when you gave us this pearl of wisdom?" Virgil asked, grinning.

Scott glanced at his brothers with a slightly surprised but bland expression. "I've always been of the opinion that we should listen to Dad's instincts."

"Except when you, you know... don't," Gordon replied.

Before Scott could reply, John jumped in. "Totally off-topic here, but did you happen to get a recording of that whole exchange on Alan's watch?"

"Yeah, I did," Gordon said, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm not the only one who knows how things work up here."

"Pffft." John rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "You're in fine form today, Gordon."

"Well, hearing your kid brother get beat up kinda gives you a somewhat cynical attitude toward life," Gordon replied, scowling.

"Whoa, whoa!" Virgil made a "T" using both hands. "Time out!" When he had the attention of all his brothers, he continued, "This has gotten us all riled up, yeah, but let's not take it out on each other, okay?" He turned to Gordon. "Can you download the file to us?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Gordon said in a resigned tone, reaching over to do as he was asked to.

"And can either of you come up with a reason why this whole episode was taped?" Virgil asked, turning to John and Scott. "It would be prime evidence, if we could come up with a realistic explanation for it."

John and Scott both frowned thoughtfully for a few moments, then John's face brightened. "Hey, Gords? Can you find the recording of the last time the watches were used?"

"You recorded that, too?" Virgil asked, puzzled.

"It was automatic since I was the one to answer it," John replied, spreading out his hands. "Just like a call for help. If they had just activated it person-to-person, it probably wouldn't have been."

"I see." The three older Tracy brothers waited as the younger searched for the file.

"I don't know... wait, here it is." Gordon looked up and asked, "There are two files here, one for Alan and one for Fermat. Which do you want?"

"Try Fermat's," John said. "I think that one's longer." He turned to his brothers. "When they first used the watches, they hadn't had any instruction on how to do it. So I patched Fermat through to Alan. But it also meant they didn't know how to turn the watches off. As a result, the conversation was recorded for a while after the action was over."

"And what does that have to do with what we've been discussing? Scott asked.

"I'm pretty sure that Fermat said something about the watches we may be able to use."

Gordon tapped a few keys, and a small window appeared on both his screen and the corresponding screen in the office. "There's visual on this one."

The recording began to run, showing the close up on Fermat's white face and recounting what he and Alan said to each other. It switched to the dizzying, swinging images that Alan had seen, and the aftermath of Fermat's daring run to the rescue. Little snippets of the conversations that followed were heard, and anything that Fermat said, or that was said in his close proximity came out loud and clear.

"I don't see anything," Scott said as the recording went on.

"Shh!" John hushed him, irritated. "I think it's coming up soon."

Suddenly, they could hear Fermat say, "The w-w-watch! Isn't it c-c-c... great? It's a t-t-two-way wrist r-r-radio!" Two boys could be seen peering at the watch, the view shifting slightly from one face to another. One of the boys, a dark-haired, Hispanic-looking youth said, "It's cool... if that's what it is. How'd you get it?"

"F-F-From my dad!" Fermat's voice was loud and clear. "W-We're b-b-b-beta testing it f-for him."

"That's it!" John cried.

"What?" Virgil asked, puzzled.

"The beta-testing business." John rubbed his hands together. "We can say that because the radio is being field tested, conversations are automatically recorded made to ensure that the picture and sound are clear!"

Virgil nodded his head and shrugged a little. "That would explain it, I guess."

"We can run it past Dad," Scott said. "But I think you've got it, John."

Before John could reply, the home phone line rang. Scott leaned over to check the ID. "A Mr. Magnuson."

"Wharton's head of security," Gordon supplied helpfully.

"Ah, good. Better minimize this window," Scott said. John used the keyboard to do so, as Scott picked up the phone. "Tracy residence, Scott Tracy speaking."

"This is Carl Magnuson, head of security for Wharton Academy, calling Jefferson Tracy. Is he available?"

Scott shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Magnuson, but he and Professor Hackenbacker are on their way to the States on business. Is there something wrong with Alan?"

Mr. Magnuson gave Scott a tight smile. "I'd rather go into it with Mr. Tracy. Where can I reach him?"

"I can transfer you to his satellite phone, Mr. Magnuson, but he may not be able to answer right away. He's piloting."

"I see. Would you please do that, anyway? Hopefully I can speak with him before he reaches the States. It's imperative that he comes to Wharton as soon as possible."

"All right, sir, I'll transfer you." Scott began the process, but as he did, he asked, "Could you tell us what's wrong? It sounds serious. He's our brother, and we are concerned."

"I'm sorry, but I have to talk to your father first," Mr. Magnuson said with regret. "School policy, you know."

Scott sighed. "I understand. I'm transferring you now."

Mr. Magnuson thanked Scott, then the call was broken off at their end. All three of the Tracys sighed.

"Now we wait to hear from Dad," Virgil said. He glanced at his watch. "Did Onaha call us for lunch yet?"

"I don't know," John replied, "But I'm going to eat in here."

"Good idea," Scott said. "Virge, please tell Onaha that we're all eating lunch up here."

xxxx

Jeff was not a happy camper. His call from Carl Magnuson had not gone particularly well; Jeff wanted to tell the man he already knew about the "incident", but he had to act shocked instead. It was difficult for him to keep his temper under control, too, and Mr. Magnuson could give him no details on Alan's injuries. So it was a very disgruntled, angry, and frightened Jeff Tracy that arrived in Springfield, bypassing Boston entirely... only to find himself scrambling for a rental car. What he'd ended up with was hardly appropriate for his station in life, and the totes he'd brought along barely fit in the trunk now, when empty and stacked one within another. They certainly wouldn't fit once filled, not with four people sitting in the small sedan. Still, as unsuitable as he found the car, he took it. "I don't have time to wait around for something bigger," he growled. "I have to see my son."

"W-We'll g-get something b-better in P-Pittsfield," Brains assured him. Jeff merely nodded, and let the scientist take the wheel.

Their first stop was a hotel, the one where Jeff usually stayed when he brought Alan to and from school. Here they got a much more welcoming reception, and the kind of service Jeff expected. Once he and Brains had dropped off their luggage and checked in, they headed for the hospital. He'd been told that Alan was staying there at least overnight, and though the pair had been flying for several hours, there would be no rest for him until he saw his son. Fermat was back on campus, and had been given permission to miss classes for that day, as had Jason, Xavion, and Zave's two friends. They'd all been kept up very late making statements to the police, going over every detail of what happened several times.

Pierce had been seen by a doctor, and his broken nose had been treated. All four of them - including Lee, who was a few months short of 18 - were incarcerated in the New Ashford jail, and would be tried as adults. They were joined by two more young men, one who worked with Mickey in the laundry, and the other a friend of Pierce's from New Ashford. Because of his age, Ralph was taken to a juvenile facility. He was the reason the other two men had been picked up; he was cooperating with the authorities so the charges against him would be reduced.

At that moment, however, Jeff didn't care about the legalities of the situation. All that mattered to him was Alan. Fortunately, the staff at the hospital in Pittsfield had been forewarned of Jeff's arrival.

"Mr. Tracy? I am Dr. Gupta, the pediatrician on call this evening. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The doctor, a short, younger gentleman of Indian extraction, offered his hand.

"Jeff Tracy, and this is Professor Hackenbacker," Jeff said, shaking the physician's hand.

Brains also shook hands with Dr. Gupta, then said, "M-Mr. Tracy, I'm going to get some br-breakfast. I'll be in the c-c-c... lunchroom if you n-need me."

Jeff nodded. "Okay, Hiram. I'll call if I need you."

Brains left; he knew that this first discussion should be between father and pediatrician, and at the moment, he was a third wheel.

When Brains had gone, Jeff asked tersely, "What's his condition?"

Dr. Gupta said, "Come with me, please," and led Jeff to a small waiting room, where they could speak without being overheard. He sat down and took out a data pad, and began scrolling down to read over his notes. Jeff started to pace, but thought better of it and perched himself on the edge of a chair instead, leaning forward, looking the doctor in the face.

"Mr. Tracy, Alan is a lucky young man, and looks worse than he actually is," the doctor commented. "His left cheek and eyebrow took quite a beating. We have glued the worst of the injuries to his eyebrow, but his cheek has more of a deep abrasion than an actual laceration." He glanced up at Jeff. "We have cleaned and dressed it, but you may want to consult a plastic surgeon when the swelling goes down. We also flushed his eyes to remove bits of plant detritus."

Looking at the pad again, Dr. Gupta continued. "His abdomen is bruised; it seems he took two or three punches or kicks there. However, there are no signs of internal bleeding; the bruising is mostly muscular in nature. He will be sore for quite a while." He paused to read some more, then added, "His knees were already slightly injured, and those injuries were healing. Unfortunately, several gashes developed from being forced to his knees at one point. Those injuries have been glued. His right shoulder was hyperextended and there is indication of strain. A period of resting, use of anti-inflammatory medication, then gentle exercise will help." The doctor gave Jeff a wry smile. "He was very upset that his injuries would keep him from his first track meet this weekend."

"I'm sure he was," Jeff replied. "Anything else?"

"A variety of minor scrapes and bruises. He did report graying out at one point. We are looking for signs of concussion, and may want him to stay longer, depending on his neurological checks." The doctor put his pad on the table. "That is all."

"May I see him?" Jeff asked, trying to keep his impatience under control.

Dr. Gupta smiled and nodded. "Of course. Please, follow me."

He guided Jeff down a corridor to a room where a New Ashford police officer stood guard. "This is Mr. Tracy," the doctor told the officer. "Alan's father. I am sure he will be in and out of here during the day today."

The officer nodded, and Jeff followed the doctor inside. The room was set up as a double room, but Alan was the only patient there. Jeff drew in a sharp breath when he saw his son.

Alan was asleep, his face turned to the right. Half of his face's left side was covered with bandages, from the thin, butterfly bandages that held together the gash over his eye to thicker white gauze over his cheekbone. He had two black eyes; the flesh around the left one was so swollen that Jeff knew Alan would have trouble opening it. There was a bruise around his son's right wrist. The other injuries were covered by the hospital gown and blanket, and Jeff was glad they were out of sight.

"Wait here for a moment, please, while I examine him," Dr. Gupta requested. Jeff nodded, and the doctor approached the bed, raising it's head while calling, "Alan?" He took a penlight out of his coat pocket. "Wake up, Alan. I need to do a neurology check."

Alan stirred, and opened his good eye as far as he could, and his swollen one just a slit. As Jeff hovered out of viewing range, the doctor used the penlight to check his patient's response to light, and asked him to do some simple things, like touch his finger to his nose. Then he quietly asked some questions, which Alan answered correctly, culminating in the question, "And who is this?"

Jeff stepped forward and Alan murmured, "Dad!"

"Hey there, son," Jeff said. Dr. Gupta moved out of the way, smiling, letting Jeff take his place at the bedside. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You are welcome."

The physician left, and Jeff lowered the bed rail, maneuvering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached out to stroke Alan's hair back. "How are you doing, son?"

"I'll be better once I can get out of here, and get some real sleep," Alan said softly. "They keep waking me up for neuro checks."

"Never go to a hospital when you want to sleep," Jeff said, smiling slightly. He paused, then asked, "What happened, Alan? What made you go into those woods?"

Alan looked away. "It... it was a gut reaction, Dad. Ralph told me someone was in trouble and I didn't even think twice about it. I just went. I figured that if I could get there quickly, I'd keep someone from getting hurt. Thought I'd have back up when I needed it. But... I screwed up, Dad. I should have put more thought into what I was doing, brought help with me instead of going it alone." He turned back to his father. "It never occurred to me that someone could hate me so much, or would go out of their way to hurt me so bad." He swallowed hard, and his voice sounded very small and lost. "I should have known, especially after... after what happened last spring." His voice dropped to a whisper as he said, "I'm sorry, Dad."

Jeff let out a long, deep sigh. "C'mere, Alan," he said, leaning over and gently pulling his son to him. He didn't want to squeeze too tightly; he was mindful of his son's injuries. He gently rubbed Alan's back as the boy began to sob.

They sat that way for what seemed like a long time; Jeff, the rock for Alan to lean on, and Alan holding on as if he never wanted to let go. Finally, Alan quieted, pulling back a little. Jeff helped him ease back down onto the mattress, and pulled a few tissues from a box by the bed. "Better?" he asked.

"Yeah," was Alan's response. He blew his nose carefully, and wiped his eyes. The left one was closed all the way now, and the right one drooped, indicating how tired he was.

"Dad, what... what's going to happen now? To Sugi? And Ralph?"

"I don't know yet, son. But we'll talk about it later, after we've both had some rest." Jeff smiled a little, and brushed Alan's hair back again. "Just know this: I agree that you could have, and should have, thought things through before haring off to the rescue. But I'm glad you took action, instead of looking the other way." He smiled wider. "Sometimes it's what you have to do."

Standing, Jeff stretched and yawned. "I think I'd better get something to eat, and some sleep. It's hard on the old man, flying back in time."

"Not as young as you used to be, huh?" Alan quipped lightly, smiling a little.

"Nope, but I can still take you on, and don't you forget it," Jeff replied, pointing at Alan emphatically, a twinkle in his eyes. "I'll be back in a few hours. You get some rest and don't hassle the nurses."

"Yes, sir," Alan said with a sigh. As Jeff turned to go, Alan frowned a bit, then called, "Uh, Dad?"

Jeff glanced back at his son. "Yes, Alan?"

"Do we, uh, do we have a relative named... 'Dick'?"

_

* * *

Will the police be able to use the recording? Will Jeff pull Alan from Wharton? Will Brains pull Fermat out? What else will happen to Sugi and friends? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	46. Unaligned Opinions

_Author's note: _Jeff meets someone unexpected. The brothers sound off on Alan's future. The lawyer weighs in. Alan's friends pay a visit. Brains makes one decision, while Jeff makes another. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and for being a sounding board.

ETA: Edit made to close a plot hole!

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff rubbed his neck and chuckled as he headed down to the cafeteria. Explaining to Alan who Dick Tracy was hadn't taken long, but his son's reaction made him grin. 

"You mean Brains didn't think up those watches on his own?" Alan had said, a puzzled expression on his face. "Here I thought he'd come up with something _original_. Fermat's gonna freak!"

_Fermat may very well freak,_ Jeff thought as he scanned the cafeteria for his chief engineer. _But if I know Hiram, he really **did **think those up himself. He's not exactly well read when it comes to fiction, and that includes the funnies._

His search for Brains ended when the man himself waved an arm to indicate where he was sitting. Jeff nodded, and headed for the small table. To his surprise, Brains wasn't alone. Sitting across from him, hands cradled around a cup of coffee, was an Asian gentleman. Jeff gave his friend a questioning look, and Hiram said, "Uh, Jeff. I'd l-like you to m-meet Dr. Daniel S-Sugimoto. Daniel, m-my employer, J-Jefferson Tr-Tracy."

The usual pleasantries died on Jeff's lips, and he struggled to maintain his composure. Dr. Sugimoto took one look at Jeff's suddenly stony face and rose. "I think I should be going now," he said quickly, obviously feeling uncomfortable. "I... I want to apologize, Mr. Tracy, for my son's actions. I don't know where I went wrong with him, but obviously, somewhere, I did. I hope your son will make a full and quick recovery." He nodded at Brains. "I'll email you about those specifications, Professor." He glanced at Jeff, who hadn't said a word. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Tracy." Then he left, threading his way through the cafeteria tables.

Jeff shook himself to action, and scowling, started after Dr. Sugimoto.

"Jeff!"

Brains's sharp call stopped him in his tracks. He stood still as his engineer came up behind him. "Jeff, he f-feels bad enough as it is. D-Don't make it worse."

There was a momentary pause, then Jeff huffed out a breath and made himself relax. He turned, nodded at Brains, and the two men sat down at the table.

"Y-You want me to get you s-something?" Brains asked. "Coffee? D-Danish?"

"I'll get something for myself in a minute," Jeff said. He looked off in the direction that Dr. Sugimoto had taken, then back at Brains. "What was that all about? Why was he here?"

"His s-son is undergoing m-mental evaluation and some b-blood testing," Brains said. "Since he's n-not 18 yet, Dr. S-S-Sugimoto has to be involved, at l-least as far as the h-hospital is concerned." He took a gulp of his coffee. "As far as the cr-criminal justice authorities are c-concerned, Lee is an a-adult."

Jeff made a noise of disgust. "Going for the insanity plea. I might have known."

Brains forked up a bit of egg on the plate before him and considered his words as he chewed. When his mouth was clear, he said, "There s-seems to be some c-concern over the steroids Lee was taking. The ringleader, P-Pierce, had d-doctored them himself, s-supposedly to m-make them undetectable."

"I remember hearing Sugimoto shouting something to that effect," Jeff said, folding his arms and leaning them on the table.

"It seems that the s-substance he used may b-be what ch-changed Lee's p-personality," Brains added. "His and the other st-student's."

Jeff shook his head, then straightened. "I don't buy it, Brains. No one forced these boys to take the steroids; no one made them act the way they did. No one made those older boys attack Alan's friend, or his roommate, or his teammate. They're responsible for their actions, Brains, plain and simple."

"N-No one says they aren't r-responsible," Brains said. "Especially the older ones. B-But if they were u-under the influence, so t-to speak, that might carry w-weight in their punishment."

"I still think it's pushing responsibility off onto someone or something else," Jeff replied. "But... that's not something we have to worry about right now, anyway." He paused. "What 'specifications' was Dr. Sugimoto talking about?"

"The sp-specs to his camera tech," Brains said. "I t-told him I'd s-see if the patent lawyers I u-use could help him." He took a moment to clear his plate, wiping up the egg yolk with a corner of buttered toast. "I h-hope that's all right with y-you."

Jeff waved a hand, dismissing the subject. "Knock yourself out, Brains. I'll leave it in your hands from here on out. We need those specs, but I can't deal with the man right now."

"I understand," Brains replied. He glanced at his watch. "Y-You should g-get some breakfast. Your b-boys back on the island will w-want to hear about A-A-Alan."

"I suppose I should," Jeff said with a sigh, "though God knows I have no appetite." He rose from his chair and headed toward the food line. "I'll be back soon."

Brains nodded, and once Jeff was out of sight, picked up the newspaper he had left on one of the other chairs. He folded it over, and began to read the story entitled, "Police Break Local Drug Ring. Billionaire's Son Hospitalized."

xxxx

"Any news from Dad?"

John rolled his eyes. It was ten at night, nine hours after Jeff and Brains had left. It was the ninth time that Gordon had called down to base to ask the exact same question.

"No, Gords. No news."

"Damn!" Gordon swiveled around in his chair, smoothly turning 360 degrees. "Why haven't you called him?"

"Because for all I know he's getting some sleep at his hotel! Or he's at the hospital and has his phone off."

"But... don't you want to know what's wrong with Alan?"

John sighed heavily. "Of course I do. Scott and Virgil do, too. But until Dad calls us..." The phone to the right of him rang, with the odd march their father favored. "Hey, there he is now!" He reached over and touched a button or two, and turned the screen where Gordon's face could be seen around towards the phone. "Hi, Dad!"

"Hello, John. Oh, hey, Gordon!" Jeff looked weary. "I thought I'd better call before I headed off to sleep here. Are Scott and Virgil with you?"

"Not at the moment, but I think I can get them here quickly," John said. He pulled out his own phone, and began to send a text message to each of his absent brothers.

The theme to _Star Wars_ could be heard outside the door, and Scott turned off his phone as he entered the room. "Dad calling?"he asked, as he waved at John, trying to get his younger brother to move from their father's chair. John just grinned and shook his head.

Virgil came in, wiping his hands on a oily, paint-covered rag. "Hey, Dad!" he called when he saw his father's face.

"Hello, Scott, Virgil." Jeff smiled fondly at his sons. "I'm going to keep this short as I need some sleep before I go back to the hospital. Alan's going to be fine, though he's going to be in some pain for awhile. Nothing broken, mainly bruises, though he may need a touch of plastic surgery on his cheekbone. They're keeping an eye on him for possible concussion, too."

"But how _is _he?" Gordon asked, his face creased with concern.

Jeff sighed. "Tired, achy, still in shock, I think. Not thinking about what's going to happen, not wanting to think about what _has_ happened. And feeling like he screwed up." He shook his head. "In a way, he did. But then, he wasn't considering himself. He was tricked, made to believe that someone else was in trouble. Did what we all have done at least once: run to the rescue without really pausing to plan or prepare."

"No back up?" Scott asked.

"None with him." Jeff ran a hand through his hair. "He's fortunate to have good friends who came to help him."

"Speaking of friends, how's Fermat?" Virgil asked.

"According to the school, still asleep," Jeff replied. "Brains left a voice message for Fermat to call when he gets up." He stifled a yawn. "I'll be interested in his point-of-view."

The boys glanced at each other. "Dad, we have the recording of what happened, what Fermat heard through Alan's watch," John said. "We also have figured out a cover story about how we got it."

"Really?" Jeff stifled another yawn. "Send me the details. I'm not sure how to handle the timing on it, but it might be a help to the police. Give Art Trumbull a head's up; ask his opinion on it."

"Right," John picked up a data pad and made a note. "Is he at home?"

"Should be. I asked him to leave his son at Wharton until I could talk to him this weekend. He's more likely to be at home than trying to scramble to Europe and back again."

"His son's at Wharton?" Virgil asked, surprised.

"Yes, and he's Fermat's roommate," Jeff said, smiling. He yawned again, and Scott answered him with one of his own. "Okay, boys. Time for all of us to get some sleep. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Dad." "Talk to you soon, Dad." "Sleep well." "Tell Alan to get well for us."

"I will. Goodnight, boys." The call ended, and John turned things off at their end.

"So, who's this Art Trumbull?" Gordon asked, sitting back with his arms folded.

"Tracy Industries lawyer," John said, tapping away, preparing an email. "Better send this on corporate letterhead," he murmured to himself. He glanced up at Gordon. "Would you please download the file so I can attach it?"

"Okay." Gordon moved to one of the other consoles in the room, while Scott moved away from Jeff's desk.

"Sounds like the Sprout isn't going to be able to run track," he said, flinging himself onto the sofa.

"Of course not," Virgil replied, taking up one of the chairs. "Dad's bringing him home."

"I wonder if that's such a wise move," Scott said, looking thoughtful.

"According to the news reports, the New Ashford and Pittsfield police think they've broken the ring and have everyone concerned in custody," John told them, not looking from his work. "Almost ready," he muttered under his breath, "Just need to spell check. Ah! Okay. File attached and away it goes!"

"Why don't you think it's a wise move?" Virgil asked, folding his arms and frowning.

"Well, Sprout had just gotten his feet under him at Wharton this year. Things were looking good; he had track, some new friends..." Scott shrugged. "It was a chance for him to do his own thing, be his own person."

"Not be in the shadow of his older brothers," Gordon said, coming back to the communication screen.

"Make his own mark in the world," John added as he sat back and put his hands behind his head. "All of us have had that chance. It's his turn now."

"But he could do that anywhere," Virgil argued. "In fact, he'd probably do it better at another school, where he doesn't have a brother who went before him."

"You're forgetting the aspect of friends, Virge," Scott said, mimicking John's action. "He'd have to start all over at another school, coming in when everyone in his year has already made their friends and formed their little groups."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Remember what a rough time he had last year, coming to Wharton after that business at his first high school? He hated it! Every time he called, it was 'I want to come home'." He shrugged. "Not this year."

"And what about Fermat?" John asked, plunking one ankle on the opposite knee as he leaned back. "If Alan moves, Fermat's likely to, too. It's not fair to put him through another year like the one he had, with the bullying and all."

"They could both come home; be home educated," Virgil suggested, spreading his hands, palms up and shrugging.

Scott laughed. "I wouldn't want to try and home educate Fermat, that's for sure! I think the only one who could is Brains himself."

"Besides, there's the whole social aspect of school," John said.

"And the fact that we'd probably want kill them both after just a few weeks," Gordon added firmly.

"Sounds like you all think Alan and Fermat should stay at Wharton," Virgil said. "And, for the record, I agree. As long as the danger's gone, they should stay. I just wanted to sound you all out on the arguments for them staying." He shook his head. "We'll need all those arguments if we're going to convince Dad – and Brains – to let them stay."

Scott shook his head. "We're not the ones who have to do the convincing, Virge. We can add our two cents, but in the end, Alan's going to have to convince Dad himself."

xxxx

"H-Hello, son!" Brains stepped forward and wrapped his long arms around Fermat.

He and Jeff had taken a longish nap, and were now at Wharton. There were signs of the ripples that this latest incident had created; several people were waiting in line to remove their sons from school when Jeff and Brains signed in and received visitor's badges. Mrs. Belvedere had glanced up at them, and given them both a rueful smile.

"When you are ready, I'll be available, Mr. Tracy," she had said with a sigh. The parents in line had looked up at Jeff, startled, making the connections in their heads.

Jeff, feeling uncomfortable, had nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Belvedere. We'll be by later." She had returned the nod, then went back to her work.

"Hi, D-Dad!" Fermat cried, returning the embrace. "H-Hey, Mr. Tracy!" he said, grinning.

"Hackenbacker the hero," Jeff said, grinning and ruffling Fermat's hair. "How're you doing?"

"I'm f-f-f... okay," Fermat told him. "I was e-excused from cl-classes because of wh-what happened. The p-police kept us up really late a-answering questions." He indicated his room with a hand. "No such l-luck for A.J. though, or I'd introduce y-you." His smile faded as he asked, "H-How's Alan?"

"He's been better, but he'll survive," Jeff said, a small smile on his lips. "In fact, we came to get you so you could visit."

"Cool!" Fermat exclaimed. "L-Let me get my j-jacket!" As he opened his closet door, he said, "The guys were going to g-go and see him, today, and asked if I wanted to come. But I t-told them I couldn't... didn't h-have permission."

"Let m-me help you," Brains said, reaching to take the jacket from Fermat.

Fermat shook his head. "I'm g-good, Dad," he said as he expertly put the coat on over his cast. "I've gotten u-used to it."

The two men exchanged glances - Jeff's amused, and Brains's surprised – as they followed Fermat out and to the elevator.

Before they got into the car, Jeff got a phone call. "It's Art Trumbull," he said to Brains as he answered it. Brains nodded, and got into the driver's seat.

"Hello, Art. I take it John sent you the file from last night?"

"Yes!" Art said, his face creasing in a frown. "Is Alan okay?"

Jeff nodded. "He's going to be all right. I wanted to know if that recording could be used as evidence."

"Very likely, though the final decision would belong to the judge," was the reply. "Do you want me to forward it to the local authorities?"

"Yes, please," Jeff said. "I think it will look better coming from you than it would from me personally, or even from me through the corporation."

"I agree," Art said. "I'll take care of that right away." He paused, then asked, "Will you be pulling Alan from Wharton?"

Jeff nodded. "That's what I plan to do, Art. I think it's too dangerous for him to stay here. I'd rather bring him home where I can keep an eye on him."

"It's a good call, Jeff," Art said. "Once I've gotten a few things straightened out here, I'll be heading up to pull Andrew out. Haven't found a school for him yet but, like you, I'd rather keep him safe at home until I do."

Jeff frowned a little at this. He was aware that Arthur Trumbull valued his work above his son, but didn't feel it proper to interfere with the way others brought up their children. Still, he didn't want Arthur to think he himself dealt with Alan in the same way. "I'll likely be looking for a home education program for Alan." He smiled, though it was hard. "He's wanted that for a couple of years now anyway."

Art smiled back, a strained expression. "Good to have the luxury of staying put, isn't it, Jeff? Maybe I can find something in Geneva for Andrew; keep him closer than I have before."

Jeff nodded, pleased that he'd made a point. "Good luck in finding one, then." He glanced up. "I've got to go; we're at the hospital. I'll talk to you soon."

"Right. I'll get that file to the New Ashford authorities. Goodbye, Jeff. Give Alan my get well wishes."

"I will. Goodbye, Art." The call ended, and Jeff sighed. He glanced over at Brains. "I wish... never mind. Let's go see Alan."

As they approached the hospital, they noticed a news crew hovering around outside the front doors. "Who do you think they're waiting for?" Jeff asked.

Brains grimaced. "I'm a-afraid they're p-p-p... waiting for you, Mr. T-Tracy," he said apologetically. "The n-news of Alan's i-i-i... hospitalization has gotten about."

Jeff groaned. "I don't think I can get past them without being recognized, either."

"Let m-me run interference, Mr. Tracy," Fermat suggested. "Then y-you can go down to the e-emergency entrance and m-meet us in the lobby."

"You run interference, Fermat?" Jeff asked, exchanging a puzzled glance with Brains.

"Y-Yeah," Fermat said. "I can a-ask dumb questions for a bit then D-Dad can r-rescue the news c-crew."

The two fathers exchanged glances again, and Brains shrugged. "Okay, Fermat. I'm counting on you," Jeff said.

"Yes, s-sir!" Fermat replied, giving Jeff a sharp salute. "Hackenbacker to the rescue." He tugged on his father's shirt with his good hand. "C'mon, D-Dad."

"Good luck!" Jeff nodded at the pair, and headed for the emergency room entrance.

Fermat ran ahead of his father, and up to the news crew. "Why are you guys h-here?" he boldly asked. "You waiting for s-someone?"

Brains looked on as his son engaged the reporters in conversation. _When did he get so confident?_ he asked himself. _He's always been so quiet and self-effacing. Maybe this year at Wharton has been better for him than I realized_. He made his way up to the small group, but his intervention turned out to be unneeded as a group of boys pushed open the front doors.

"Hey, Fermat!" one of them, a short, dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks, called. "What are you doing here? You here to see Pinky?"

"Oops! G-Gotta go!" Fermat told the reporters. He joined the boys, then looked back at his father. "C'mon, Dad!"

"C-Coming, son!" Brains picked up his pace and followed the group as Fermat led them back inside.

"G-Guys, this is my Dad," Fermat said, waving in his father's direction. "You can c-call him 'Professor Hackenbacker'. D-Dad, these are my f-friends: Qaeshon and Xavion Lewis, Jason C-Cunningham, and that's A-Alan's roommate, D-Dominic Bertoli."

"Hey, Professor." "Nice to meet you, sir." "Hello, Professor." "Good to meet you, Professor."

"We tried to go up and see Pinky... I mean, Alan," Qaeshon said. "But we couldn't get past the cop at the door."

"D-Don't worry," Fermat said, gazing over Qaeshon's shoulder. "H-Here comes someone who can h-h-h... get us in."

Jeff was nonplussed to find Fermat surrounded by a small group of boys, one of them every bit as tall as he himself was. "Guys, this is Alan's d-dad," Fermat said by way of introduction.

"I think we'd b-better move, son," Brains said, putting his hands on Fermat's shoulders. "Don't want that news crew to, uh, spot Mr. T-Tracy."

"Sure, D-Dad," Fermat said. As they moved toward the elevators, he asked, "Hey, K-Kay, how'd you and Dom get out of c-classes?"

"The police wanted us to come down and see if we recognized any voices," Qaeshon explained, as they boarded the lift. "Dr. MacDonald himself excused us from classes. I think he figured we'd be too much of a distraction to the others." His face brightened. "We saw Erik at the police station, too. He looks pretty good, considering."

"Considering what?" Jason asked, intrigued.

"Yeah," Fermat added. "I was w-wondering why he was at the p-police station. C-Cough it up, Kay."

While Qaeshon sputtered and tried to come up with an answer, Jeff was making connections with the help of Brains. "You're Xavion Lewis, right?" he asked Zave. "The one with the car?"

"Yes, sir," Zave said respectfully.

"Thank you for taking Alan out to get his track shoes," Jeff told him. He smiled wryly. "Reminds me that I need to have a talk with him about that. He didn't need six pairs." Sighing, he added, " Now he won't need any of them."

"Does this mean you're taking Alan out of school, sir?" Jason asked.

There was a sudden quiet in the elevator and all of the boys turned to look at Jeff with what he could only describe as anxious expressions. "I'm afraid so... what's your name?"

"I'm Jason Cunningham, Mr. Tracy."

"Ah. Well, Jason, I'm afraid I am going to pull Alan from Wharton," he said apologetically. "I think he'd be safer recuperating at home, where his brothers and I can keep an eye on him."

The silence on the rest of the ride was deafening. When they got out on the pediatric floor, Jeff led the way to Alan's room, with Brains bringing up the rear. Fermat dropped back to walk with Qaeshon and Dom, and the three of them held a whispered conference.

"Let me go in first and see how he's doing," Jeff said, nodding to the New Ashford officer. "Then you boys can come in and visit."

Zave, as _de facto_ spokesman, nodded. "Okay, Mr. Tracy."

Jeff gave him a brief smile, and went inside.

"Dad! Boy, am I glad to see you!" Alan sounded more alert than before. He tried to grin, but it ended up as a grimace. "When can I get out of here? I'm bored out of my gourd!"

Jeff chuckled. "Good to see you, too, Alan. You're sounding better than you did earlier."

"I got some more sleep," Alan said. "And some food. That always helps." He leaned his head back. "The police have been here, asking questions, taking my statement. Did you know that Pierce was part of a drug ring? I saw it on the vid."

"I haven't spoken to the police yet," Jeff admitted. "I've been more worried about you." He reached out to brush Alan's hair back again. "How are you feeling?"

"Stiff, sore," Alan admitted. He rubbed his belly and made a face. "I don't even want to look at myself in the mirror."

"You're no treat to look at, I'll admit," Jeff said with a sigh. He pulled up a chair. "Who did you talk to at the police department? I suppose I'll have to go down there and ask some questions, find out where they are in their investigation."

"The detective gave me her card," Alan said. "It's on the table over there."

Jeff moved to the bedside table and picked up the card, looking it over. "Thanks, son. I'll give her a call in a bit." He pocketed the card and sat back down. "Your brothers send their love and get well wishes."

Alan sighed. "Man, I wish they'd been with me last night. Things would have been a lot different. I mean, I wouldn't be _here_, that's for sure.. Between me and Scott, we would have kicked ass."

"You did pretty well for yourself from what I understand," Jeff told him. "And your friends arrived in the knick of time, it seems." He grinned. "Like the Thunderbirds, one of them said."

"That was Jase," Alan said, smiling as much as his abused cheek would allow. Then the smile dropped as the full import of his father's comment sank in. "How... how did you know?"

Jeff sighed, and moved over to sit on the edge of the bed. "We heard it. Your watch wasn't just broadcasting to Fermat..."

"Damn Gordon!" Alan slammed his hand down on the mattress. "I told him not to tell you!"

Jeff's face stilled and an eyebrow rose as he sat up straighter. "You told him not to tell me."

Alan suddenly realized that his father was not at all pleased. He ran his own hand through his hair. "I didn't want you to worry..." He sighed and dropped his head back against the mattress. "I'm sorry, Dad. I just..." His shoulders slumped. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't," Jeff said bluntly. "Fortunately, your brother was." He shook his head. "We can talk about this later. Right now, Brains, Fermat and some of your friends are outside and want to see you." He rose from the bed, and went to the door. "While they're visiting, I'll see if I can find the doctor."

Looking down at his hands, which were picking at the blanket, Alan nodded slightly. Jeff glanced back at him once more, then left.

xxxx

The boys waited semi-patiently for Jeff to come out, and while they did, Fermat stepped close to his father. "Dad?" he asked quietly.

"Y-Yes, son?"

"Are y-you going to t-t-t... p-p-p... r-remove me from Wharton, too?"

Brains gave his son a thoughtful look. "I've been th-th-th... c-c-c... ruminating about it." He glanced up at the boys who standing in a small knot, discussing something. "B-But as h-hard as it is, and as much as I'd l-love to have you in the l-l-lab with me, I think you're better off h-here."

Fermat's eyes got wide behind his glasses. "R-Really?"

Brains nodded, and exhaled long and forcefully through his nose. "When I s-saw you walk up so b-boldly to those r-reporters, I w-wondered when you'd gotten so f-f-fearless. I realized, it was h-here, with your fr-friends. B-Being here has given you c-c-confidence." He smiled and put an arm around his son's shoulders, squeezing him to his side. "You're growing up, coming into your o-own. It's good for you, and I w-won't take it a-a-a... I won't d-deprive you of it."

Fermat closed his eyes, blinking at sudden tears. He wiped them away, took in a deep breath, and grinned. "Thanks, D-Dad," he said softly. "I love you, y-you know."

"D-Ditto, son." Father and son glanced up as Jeff opened the door to Alan's room.

"Go ahead in, boys," Jeff said, nodding. "Alan wants to see you."

Xavion was the first to the door, but he just held it open and let Fermat and the younger boys go in first. "I'm going to find the doctor and see what's what," Jeff told Brains.

Brains frowned a little. He could tell that Jeff was displeased by something, but couldn't figure out what. "I'll j-just wait here... let the b-boys have some time alone with A-Alan."

Jeff nodded. "I'll be back soon."

Brains watched him stalk off, and shook his head. He gave the police officer a nervous smile, and walked off in search of a water fountain.

_

* * *

What will the boys discuss? Will the older brothers be able to convince Jeff? Will Alan try to convince his father? When will he get out of the hospital? What about A.J.? What are the police doing? Will they be able to use the recording? What else will happen to those who were arrested? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	47. Unrehearsed Plea

_Author's note: _The boys confer. Alan learns his fate. Dom returns a favor. Thanks to Lilliehafrue for betareading, and for being a sounding board. Hobbeth's on vacation.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Hey, Pinky!" Jason called as the little group strode across to Alan's bed. "How're you doing?" 

"Hey, guys." Alan gave his friends a very small smile, and shrugged slightly. "Okay, I guess."

Fermat sat down in the chair nearest the bed, where Jeff had sat just moments before. Dom pulled up the room's other chair, offered it first to his friends, then sat in it as the other boys declined. Kay leaned on the tall back of the seat, resting his chin on his folded arms. Jason took up a position sitting on the edge of the bed near Alan's feet.

"Man, I thought Pierce looked bad," Zave said as he approached.. He reached out and gently took Alan's chin in his hand, moving the younger boy's head so he could see the injuries clearly. "You're in worse shape than he is. Couldn't see this clearly last night."

"They say I may need some plastic surgery on my cheek," Alan said quietly.

His demeanor did not go unnoticed. The boys exchanged concerned glances, then Qaeshon asked, "What's got you so down?" He frowned, looking worried. "You hurting?"

"No," Alan said with a sigh. "At least, not much. I... I just had a few words with my dad, that's all."

"Ah!" Fermat said. "He must've t-told you what he planned to d-d-do."

Alan glanced up at Fermat, a puzzled look on his face. "What do you mean?"

The boys all exchanged glances again, this time as if asking, "What do we do?" Then Fermat pointed to himself, and the older boys nodded. They turned back to Alan, but kept an eye on Fermat as he spoke.

"He t-told us in the elevator that he's g-going to pull you from Wharton. He w-wants to take you home to r-recuperate."

Alan leaned back against the bed and closed his eyes. "Damn." There was a long pause as Alan struggled with his emotions. He closed his eyes tight against sudden tears. His friends waited for him to compose himself, and at last he sniffed, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "So, he's going to take me home. Too bad he didn't tell me that."

Fermat shook his head. "I w-was afraid of th-that." He glanced down and muttered, "I sh-shouldn't have said anything."

Qaeshon put his hand on Fermat's shoulder. "It's okay, Brain. You didn't know." Catching Alan's eye, he added, "Your dad didn't set out to tell us; it sorta came out in conversation."

"I'd have thought he'd have told you when he came in," Dom said, frowning. "He might have figured that we'd mention it."

Alan shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Either way I lose." He resumed picking at the blanket, then realized what he was doing and stopped. "So, what's up at Wharton? You guys playing hooky or something?"

"Nah," Jason said, waving a hand. "We got permission to skip since we were up late talking to the police. Dom and Kay here even went down to the station today to see if they recognized any voices." He shot a glance at Fermat. "I bet they'll ask the Brain to come, too."

"Dad told me that you guys heard what went down last night," Alan said, perking up a bit.

"Most of it," Zave said, leaning up against the wall. "Those two-way wrist radio televid things of yours are pretty cool... and handy in this situation."

"I understand Sugi didn't get away."

"Nope," Kay shook his head. "Ran right into the arms of the law. Tried to give them a song-and-dance about going to your rescue, but with Ralph and me there, he didn't get very far."

"What was Ralph doing?" Alan asked bitterly. "Come to see the results of his fake-out?"

"Hey, Pinky, cut him some slack, okay?" Jason spoke up in defense of his former roommate. "He was pretty angry at himself for doing what he did, and in the end, he did the right thing by telling me what was going down. And now he's cooperating with the police, too. If he hadn't been, they might not have caught everyone."

There was a long silence while Alan chewed on that information. He decided to drop the subject of Ralph, and lifted his eyes to gaze at each of his friends in turn. "Do you think they really have everyone? Do you really think the danger is over?"

The boys considered this as a group, and heads began to nod. "Yeah, Pinky, it's over," Zave said. "No more attacks, no more doctored steroids. There are kids from other schools, even the public high schools, who got caught by drug testing, and some of them will be testifying, too. The law's got these creeps and got them good."

Alan shook his head slowly. "Obviously my dad doesn't feel the same way."

"He's not the o-only one," Fermat said. "There were l-lots of parents pulling their k-k-k... sons from Wharton." He shrugged. "Wouldn't b-be surprised if they had to sh-sh.-sh... close down or something."

"What about you guys?"

"My folks called, and asked my opinion," Dom said, smiling a little. "I said I was okay, and felt the cops were doing everything they could, that things were safe again. Mom wasn't happy, but Dad said it was my decision. So I'm staying."

"Our dad called to see that we were okay," Zave said. "There wasn't any talk about me coming home, being a senior and all, but they did ask about Kay."

"And Kay told them that he was fine - better than fine with these creeps caught," Kay added, nodding. "So the Lewis brothers are still in the house."

"Jase? What about you?"

"My folks probably haven't even heard," Jason said, shrugging. "They're not the easiest people to get hold of. Only Grandpa knows exactly where they are, and I talked to him. He was kinda iffy about it, but since I told him that the cops have all the perps, he seemed to be okay with it. My folks will probably check in with me and that'll be it."

"Where are your parents?" Dom asked, puzzled.

The redhead shrugged. "Right now? Somewhere in Siberia, I think. They're doctors with the World Health Organization, working under the Centers for Disease Control. Grandpa has power of attorney... in case something happens."

"Wow," was all a wide-eyed Fermat could say.

Everyone turned to Fermat. "How about you, Brain?" Kay asked. "I suppose you're going home with Pinky here."

Fermat bit his lower lip, and looked directly at Alan, shaking his head slowly. "N-No, I'm n-not. My d-dad says I can st-stay. He says Wh-Wharton's been g-good for me, despite it all."

The stunned silence was broken by Jason's long low whistle. "Day-am!" he drawled. "You two have been tight, even with being split up this year. It's gonna be weird having the Brain... but no Pinky."

"Yeah, well," Alan said, running a hand through his hair, and wincing when it got caught on some snarls. "He didn't screw up and I did. Now I'm paying for my mistake." He shook his head slowly. "Couldn't have a better punishment."

"Hey, if you're gonna whine and complain, I'm outta here," Zave said irritably. "I doubt your dad thinks he's punishing you. You got hurt; he's uneasy about the sitch; it makes sense that he'd want you close." He gestured at his brother. "If I weren't at Wharton, our folks might press the issue harder with Kay. Might have at the very beginning. Why? Because they care. Because they want us safe. And when it all comes down to it, we're still kids."

"Even if our folks have to crane their necks to look us in the eye," Kay added, giving his brother a nudge. Zave rolled his eyes, shook his head and snorted.

"Zave's right," Dom said. "It's our parents' job to worry and do what they think is best for us... though sometimes what's best means letting go a little." He smiled ruefully at Alan. "Seems our positions are reversed, doesn't it? Can you use the 'famous Tracy charm' on your dad the way you did on mine?"

For the first time, Alan chuckled. "Wish I could, but since he's the master of it, he's kinda immune when I use it."

"M-Maybe after he t-t-t... speaks to the police he'll see things d-differently," Fermat said.

"Maybe."

There was a knock on the door behind them and all the boys turned to see who wanted entry. A nurse came in, data pad in hand. "Alan? I need to do a neuro check, and change some bandages." She smiled at the boys. "Your friends can come back in a few moments."

"C'mon, guys," Zave said, heading for the door. "Let's clear out for a bit."

Dom and Jase rose. "We'll be back in a few minutes," Jason said as he followed Qaeshon toward the door. "You coming, Brain?"

"B-Be there in a m-minute," Fermat said. Jason nodded, and the four other boys filed out.

Fermat turned back to Alan. "I... I wanted to t-tell you I'm s-s-s... I apologize for being s-such a j-jerk yesterday. I r-realize you were s-s-s... you were being r-real when you a-apologized, but I was st-still in t-too much sh-shock about my dad to accept it. Now that I've s-seen him, I'm m-much better."

"How is he?" Alan asked.

"In b-better shape than you are," Fermat said with a small smile. "I'm s-sorry."

"Me, too, Fermat." Alan held out a fist. "Friends?"

Fermat touched it with his own. "Always." He glanced up at the nurse, who was hovering in the background. "B-Be back soon."

"Right. See ya."

The younger boy nodded, and left the room. In the corridor, the others were congregated around Brains. "Thanks for letting Fermat stay, Professor," Kay was saying. "Life at Wharton wouldn't be the same without him."

"I'm gl-gl-gl... happy to hear that many of his fr-friends are staying," Brains replied. He smiled at his son.

"Hey," Fermat asked, glancing around at the group. "Where's D-Dom?"

xxxx

In a waiting room down the hall, Jeff paced the floor, working intently with his PDA, trying to coordinate the arrangements to bring Alan home. He'd uploaded his flight plan, and was waiting for confirmation on his proposed departure time. He'd also sent it on to the island, where Scott was supposed to look it over and reply. Finally, he sat down and sighed, leaning his head back against the top of the colorful vinyl sofa. _I'm tired,_ he realized. _This has taken more out of me than I thought it would. I just want to pack Alan up and get out of here._ His thoughts turned back to his plans and he was concentrating so deeply that he didn't hear the first hesitant knock, and was startled at the second, more insistent rap. "Come in," he called distractedly.

Dom opened the door quietly, and poked his head in. "Uh, Mr. Tracy? Do you have a minute?" When Jeff motioned for him to enter, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Jeff scrubbed his hands across his face, and glanced up at the young man who stood nervously before him. Dark wavy hair, olive complexion... the name "Dominic" flashed through his brain, followed equally quickly by "roommate". "You're Dominic, Alan's roommate, aren't you?"

The boy looked surprised, then nodded vigorously – a bit too vigorously, Jeff thought. "Yes, sir. I'm Dom Bertoli." He stuck his hand out, and Jeff took it. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"Nice to meet you, too, Dominic. I'm sorry that you and Alan won't be able to finish the school year together."

Dom licked his lips, and took a deep breath. "Th-That's what I wanted to talk to you about, sir. About Alan and school." He glanced away then back again, trying hard not to fidget.

Jeff smiled wearily. "You can settle down. I don't bite, really."

Dom smiled back, still nervous. "I know, sir; at least, I think I know. I mean, you haven't bitten me yet... but you're – you know – _Jeff Tracy_. You've gone to the moon, and you're a hero, and really rich, and ... really, uh... intimidating, y'know?"

Jeff chuckled a little. "I'm sorry to be so intimidating. Just think of me as Alan's dad and leave all that hero and moon crap out of it." He gestured to one of the chairs in the waiting room. "Why don't you sit down. Maybe that will help."

Dom nodded, moistening his lips again. He sat down in the bright, comfortable chairs, but almost immediately Dom was up on his feet again, nervously pacing before Jeff.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tracy, but I'm really nervous about this."

Jeff sighed. "I understand. You've obviously got something to say to me. It'd be best if you just went ahead and said it."

"You're right." The teenager blew out a breath, his mouth making an "o" as he did so. He wiped his hands on his trousers, then, straightening, he looked Jeff in the eye. "I'm, uh, I'm asking you to think about leaving Alan here, at school, at Wharton." He paused for a beat, then added, "Sir."

Jeff considered his response, then asked, "Why? Why should I leave Alan here?" He sat back and folded his arms, looking directly at Dom.

Dom swallowed, then paused to arrange his arguments. "Well, sir, for one thing, the danger is over. The police have caught the guys who were attacking kids. The campus is safe again, as safe as it was last year."

There was a bit of silence, and Jeff nodded. "Go on."

This caught Dom off-guard, and he huffed and puffed for a bit, trying to get his bearings. Then finally, he threw up his hands, and sat down. He leaned forward to lock gazes with Jeff. His hands made nervous, emphatic motions as he spoke. "Look, Mr. Tracy. I have asthma, and I've got it pretty bad. It keeps me from playing sports, and doing other things I'd like to do. My parents – especially my mom – are overprotective of me because of it." He moistened his lips again. "After the third attack, when whoever got beat up was taken to the hospital, my folks came up to get me. They didn't consult me; they didn't ask if it was okay; they just came to pull me out of Wharton." He shrugged, spreading his palms and fingers wide. "I didn't want to go. It looked like it was going to be a great year. I was editor of the yearbook; I was back with my old friends, and making new ones. I'd just gotten a new roommate, too. Alan said he'd try to use his 'Tracy charm'," here Dom made crooks of his fingers when he said the words, and Jeff snorted a laugh, "to get my folks to let me stay."

Dom smiled a little, and nodded his head. "The one thing he said that really struck home with my folks, especially my dad, was that I needed the chance to _be my own person_. I needed the chance to make my own mistakes, and fight my own battles. And I couldn't do it with them jumping in and making everything right for me."

He paused again to think, then went on. "I know that Alan's got four older brothers, and that they're all really good at... well, at whatever it is they do. On top of that, he's got you and everything that being your son means to... well, to the _whole world_. But like me, he needs the chance to do his own thing, to find out what his own thing _is_." Dom took another deep breath. "He says you live on an island."

"That's true," Jeff replied.

"That's really cool. I mean, to live on an island? How cool is that? But living on an island means just that; an island." Dom frowned, then cocked his head to one side and asked, "D'you know what I mean?"

Jeff glanced up, then back at Dom. "Pretend I don't."

"Well, it means there's no one else. There's nothing Alan can do to prove himself. To be his own person. To do his own thing." He cleared his throat. "Tell me, Mr. Tracy, did any of your other sons go to school on your island?"

"No, they didn't," Jeff answered, shaking his head. "My older three went to public high school, and my fourth son went to Wharton."

"So, when they were in school, did they all do the same stuff? Or did they do different stuff?"

"They all did different things." Jeff sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Look, Dominic, I get your point. But I still think Alan would be better off at home with me. The police think that they've got everyone, but they don't know that for a fact. And truthfully, I shouldn't have let Alan stay before. It was because he said he would be careful that I let him."

Dom nodded a little. "So, are you punishing him for not being careful?"

"What?" Jeff sat back up suddenly, a startled look segueing into a frown. "What makes you say that?" The frown got deeper as the implications of Dom's comment sank in. "And how does he know what I'm planning? I haven't said anything to him."

The teen looked down and swallowed. "It, uh, sorta... came up while we were talking." He glanced up again to meet Jeff's eyes, and went on quickly. "I'm sorry if we let the cat out of the bag. But truthfully, sir, we thought you'd already told him." He shrugged slightly again. "In any case, that's what Alan thinks. He thinks that he screwed up and you're going to punish him for that by taking him home."

Jeff's shoulders slumped. "It's not punishment," he said, shaking his head. "I just think..."

Dom, daring greatly, interrupted. "That's just it. It's what _you_ think. I know you're his dad, and you want the best and safest for him. But what about him? He doesn't think the same way." Dom sighed, and fidgeted. "I've probably said too much, and am out of place and all, but would you do one thing for me? It's what Alan convinced my parents to do for me."

"What is it?" Jeff said sharply.

"Ask him what _he_ wants. I know he's just a kid, but it _is_ his life. And sometimes... sometimes parents have trouble giving up the reins, y'know?"

Jeff gave the teenager a long, hard look. "Tell me, Dominic, what have _your_ parents said about this attack?"

"My mom wanted me to come home," Dom told him simply. "But my dad said it was my call. I told them that the police had the guys in custody, that I thought the campus was safe again, and that I was staying." He shrugged. "Mom didn't like it, but Dad will talk her around. He was worried too, but figured I had to learn to take care of myself."

There was a moment of silence, then Jeff puffed out a long breath. "Thank you, Dominic. I'll take what you've said into consideration."

Dom smiled, a wide, confident smile this time. "I'm glad. I wanted to return the favor, y'know? And thanks for hearing me out, too, Mr. Tracy. I appreciate the fact that you didn't just blow me off."

"You're welcome."

The teenager rubbed his hands on his thighs, then stood abruptly. "Thanks again, Mr. Tracy. I'd better see what the other guys are doing. The nurse may be finished with her stuff." He held his hand out to Jeff, who stood and took it again. "See you around, Mr. Tracy."

"Yes, Dom. See you later."

Dom slipped through the door, giving Jeff a last, nervous wave. Once the boy had disappeared, Jeff sighed again and shook his head. He sat down, picking up his PDA again. He glanced at it, then put it back on the table, and fished around in his pocket for the detective's business card. _Time to make a phone call._

_

* * *

What will the police tell Jeff? Will they be able to use the recording? Will Scott reply? What will he say? Will Jeff take Dom's suggestion? Will Alan try to convince his father? When will he get out of the hospital? What will happen to those who were arrested? What about A.J.? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	48. Undecided

_Author's note: _Jeff gets input from all sides, and the final decision is made. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff sighed, and folded up his phone. He rubbed his temples, and sat down in one of the waiting room chairs. _The police... they seem sure they've got the whole lot._

It had been an interesting call. He'd spoken with Kerry Larson, the detective in charge of the investigation.

"Yes, Mr. Tracy, I'm sure we have them all," she'd said, brushing her brown hair back self-consciously. "The audio files that your company sent were really helpful." She had cocked her head at him. "I assume you've heard it?"

"Yes, I have. My technicians sent me a copy so I could decide whether or not to have it forwarded." A clumsy lie, in Jeff's estimation, but not bad for one he'd made on the spot.

"I expected so. A couple of the perps were being stubborn, especially about the third incident, but when they heard the file and Mickey talking, they realized they didn't have a prayer." She had shaken her head. "They are pretty busy pointing fingers at each other, and a couple of them are cooperating in hopes of leniency." She'd smiled and said, "Yes, we've broken this ring, Mr. Tracy, for good and all."

"Will Alan have to testify?"

Detective Larson had sighed. "It depends on whether or not we can get all of them to plead guilty to their attack on Alan. If not, then, yes, the District Attorney will probably want him on the stand. He may even want him to testify about the third incident, seeing as he was there when Mickey said what he did."

"I see," Jeff had replied thoughtfully. "Any time frame on that?"

"Sorry, sir, I don't have one. You might want to talk to the D.A. about it."

She'd thanked him again for the recordings, then Jeff had ended the call. Now he had some decisions to think over again, ones that he'd thought he'd already made. _I'd better call Scott and see if he's gotten confirmation on my flight plan._

The number was on his speed dial, and the call was put through quickly, despite the distance. It wasn't Scott who answered, however, but John. "Hello, John."

"Hey, Dad." John said, wiping his mouth hurriedly. Jeff tried to calculate what time it was at home, and came up with breakfast time the next day.

"Better not be getting jam all over my computer," Jeff warned. Then he smiled wearily. "I sent a flight plan to Scott not long ago; I wanted a confirmation on it."

"Ah, let me look," John said, turning toward the computer. "And for the record, I'm not eating jam."

"Butter then," Jeff said mildly, sitting down in a different chair than the one he'd been occupying earlier.

"My fingers are clean," John retorted without looking at the vidphone. "Ah, here it is." His eyes narrowed. "It's not confirmed yet, Dad."

"What the hell is taking so long?" Jeff said, leaning forward, his brows knit with irritation.

John shook his head. "I'm not sure. Could be the weather system on the west coast. Looks pretty strong. You may want to change a few details and resubmit."

Jeff sighed and leaned back. "All right, all right. I'll check the weather a little closer and change my flight altitude. How are things at home?"

"Pretty good. Do you have any more news about Alan?"

"He's doing okay. Not happy about coming home, but that's to be expected." Jeff rubbed one temple again with his free hand. The headache that had threatened was beginning to come on full strength. "The police are confident they have the whole gang. I have to call the District Attorney to see if Alan will have to come back to testify and when."

John frowned at this news. "So you may have to bring Alan back to Pittsfield?"

"Depends on if any of them plead not guilty, and if they need his testimony about the boy who was beaten up before he was." Jeff closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

"Hmm." John's non-committal sound was followed by a long pause, one that made Jeff sit up and glance at his phone. When he did, he noticed that John had been joined by Scott and Virgil.

"Okay, boys. What is it?"

"Uh..." Scott stammered. He glanced at his brothers. "We... ahh... John, you tell him. He listens to you."

John rolled his eyes then faced his father squarely. "Dad, we don't think you should bring Alan home."

xxxx

"What do you think? Did he listen?" Jason asked.

"I don't know," Dom said with a rueful shrug. "But I tried my best." The boys had gathered once again in Alan's room, and Dom had recounted his conversation with Jeff.

"I appreciate it, Dom," Alan said wearily. "But I don't think he'll listen. My dad's stubborn like that."

"Like y-you are," Fermat said bluntly.

"I don't get it from anybody strange." Alan laid his head back against the pillow. "Guys? I'm kinda tired..."

"Right." Zave looked at his watch. "We'd better go. I'm late for practice as it is."

"Hey, I hope Coach cuts you some slack," Alan said, suddenly concerned.

"He'll have to," Xavion said glumly. "There's not gonna be much of the track team left after last night."

"Make sure you stop to say goodbye before you leave, Pinky." Jason held out a fist.

"I will," Alan promised, touching Jason's fist with his own. The other boys approached the bed, gently repeating the gesture with Alan, then turning away to leave. All except Fermat, who sat next to Alan and murmured farewells as the small group filed out.

Before the door could close all the way, a set of long fingers grasped the edge and opened it some more. It was followed by the thin face of Brains, who peered inside. Fermat motioned for his father to come in.

"H-H-How are you, A-Alan?" the scientist said as he approached the bed, unconsciously pushing his thin brown hair back. He looked the boy over with a critical eye. "Do you f-f-feel as bad as you l-look?"

Alan smiled a little. "I wouldn't know. I haven't looked at myself... been too scared. But right now I'm just sore." He gestured toward Brains's collar. "How are you? I saw what happened. Looked like a hairy moment there."

"It w-was," Brains said, trying to stick a finger into the collar again now that it had been brought to his attention. "But I'm l-like you: j-just sore." He smiled. "W-Wait until Dr. Hatoshi sees y-you!"

Alan sighed. "At least I won't have to lie to her this time." He closed his eyes. "I hear you're letting Fermat stay."

"Y-Yes, I am," Brains said, taking a chair next to his son. He put a lanky ankle on the opposite knee, and grasped the horizontal calf loosely with two hands. His trouser leg pulled up, showing a pair of white crew socks and the double-knotted laces of his black shoes. "I feel that Wh-Wharton's been g-good for F-Fermat so far this y-y-y... this s-semester. He's g-gotten a lot of c-confidence." He turned slightly to smile at his son, who looked down with a sheepish smile.

"Th-Thanks, Dad," Fermat murmured. He looked at Alan, then glanced over at his father. "D-Dad? C-Could you say something to M-M-Mr. Tracy? M-Maybe try and t-talk him into letting Alan st-stay?"

"I d-don't know, son," Brains said, frowning slightly. "It m-might not be a g-good idea."

"Once he hears about you leaving Fermat here, he'll want to know why," Alan said.

"A-And I will g-give him my r-r-r... I 'll tell him wh-why," Brains told him. "B-But what's good for F-Fermat might not n-necessarily be g-good for you, Alan. Y-You're the son of a v-very high profile m-man. The fact that the news h-has reported where you are m-may be a d-danger in itself to you." He shook his head as much as the collar would let him. "There are p-people who w-would love to get their hands on s-some of your father's m-money and see k-k-k... abducting you as an easy way to d-do it."

Alan looked as thoughtful as his bruised face would allow. "I never thought of it that way, Brains. I just thought that catching Pierce and his pals would take care of things."

"In a way, it d-does. But there are st-still security issues. F-Fermat, as special as he is, isn't the s-son of a p-public figure," Brains added. "I f-feel that I c-can leave him here and tr-trust him to keep s-safe." He turned slightly to fix a baleful eye on his son. "If h-however, he gets into tr-trouble, he'll be b-back on the island so f-f-f... so qu-qu-qu... at the speed of light. Un-Understood?"

"Y-Yes, sir!" Fermat said with a grin and a sharp salute.

xxxx

"All right, John," Jeff said wearily. "Lay out your arguments."

John frowned; Scott and Virgil exchanged concerned looks. "Are you okay, Dad? I mean, we can discuss this later," John said.

"I am tired; I have a headache the size of Mount Everest coming on, and I'm _that_ close to losing what tatters of my temper are left." Jeff put his forefinger and thumb up, a half-inch of space between their tips. "I've already had one person try and convince me to let Alan stay. So please tell me your reasons now and quickly before I become any more disagreeable."

John squashed his first reaction, which was to terminate the call with a, "We'll talk later, Dad". He knew that his father's temper would flare because he hadn't obeyed, and as a result, anything he or his siblings said about the matter would be summarily taken out and shot.

"All right, Dad. Our feelings are these; one, Alan's been having a pretty good year so far, despite everything that's happened. He hasn't been calling home once or twice a day to whine about leaving Wharton." John paused to put out one finger, then a second. "Two, he's found a niche there at Wharton with track and his friends and all. It would be hard for him to start over at a new school, even this early in the year." A third finger joined the other two. "Three, this is his chance to be his own person, to do his own thing, to find out what his own thing is. We all had that chance; it's not fair that he doesn't have the same opportunity." John put out a fourth finger. "Four, who is going to home educate him if he doesn't go to another school? None of us really have the time, and even a satellite program requires input from someone live and on site." He took a deep breath, and unfolded his thumb. "Five... we figure we'd all want to kill him after a few weeks."

Jeff, who had been listening carefully, nodded, a quick jerky motion. "Anything more?"

John glanced up at his brothers. Scott shook his head, but Virgil leaned over John's shoulder. "Dad, if there's a possibility that Alan's still threatened... well, that trumps all of our arguments. None of us want to leave him there if he's going be in danger."

"Understood," Jeff said curtly. "I'll make the changes to my flight plan and upload it soon. Let me know as soon as it's confirmed. Jeff out." He jabbed at the cut off button, and folded the phone up with a sharp snap. "God... this headache. This is a hospital; I should be able to get something for it..."

Back in Jeff's office, John looked up at his brothers. "Well, that could have gone better," he commented ruefully.

"Wonder who else talked to him about Alan," Scott mused.

"I'm glad someone did." Virgil sighed. "At least now he knows where we stand. From here on out, it's up to Alan."

xxxx

"I think Alan is ready for discharge," said the doctor, a pretty intern whose name tag read "Tavia Black". "He's passed every one of the neuro checks; the pain is under control; the swelling is beginning to diminish." She glanced down at the data pad in her hand, then back up. "Do you have a plastic surgeon in mind, or would you like us to make a referral locally?"

"I'll take care of the plastic surgeon, Dr. Black," Jeff said from his seat on the bed near Alan's feet.

"All right. We'll have his records available when they're needed." She smiled at Jeff. "I know you're anxious to get him home so I'll get the discharge paperwork underway."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jeff said, smiling slightly. She nodded and left father and son together. Alan was picking at the supper that the hospital had provided, and avoiding his father's eyes. Jeff, whose headache had faded to a dull throbbing thanks to a small dose of pain reliever Dr. Black had provided, watched his son closely. Between them, the silence stretched long and wide, until Jeff cleared his throat. "Alan? Aren't you hungry?"

Alan shook his head gingerly. "Not really." He pushed the bedside table away and leaned back, closing his eyes. "So, when are we leaving?"

"Not until morning. There's a storm front on the west coast that could make flying tricky. Besides, I need at least a good eight hours in the sack before I fly anywhere."

Alan seemed to digest this news, then asked, "What will we do once I'm discharged? Will you take me back to campus?"

Jeff looked down, his fingers twirling the plain band that he wore on his left hand. "I was thinking of taking you and Fermat back to the hotel with us. We can spend the night there and pack up your things in the morning."

This suggestion seemed to depress Alan further. "Does that mean Brains has changed his mind about letting Fermat stay?"

Jeff blinked, and blinked again. "What did you say?"

Alan sighed, and finally trained his eyes on his father's face. "I asked if Brains has changed his mind about letting Fermat stay at Wharton."

"That's what I thought you said." Jeff frowned, his fingers still absently turning the ring around and around.

"Brains didn't tell you?"

"No, he didn't." The scientist and his son had taken the rental car and gone back to campus. Fermat wanted to introduce his father to Mr. Feng, and to A.J., who would be out of classes. Brains had promised to return whenever Jeff called. "I guess I'll have to ask him about that. I was under the impression that he was pulling Fermat out, too."

Alan closed his eyes again. "Dad, don't make him take Fermat out."

Jeff sat up, surprised. "Alan, I can't _make_ him do anything he doesn't want to do when it comes to his son. I don't have control over his family life like that. Hell, if he wanted to move off the island, I couldn't stop him. And he knows this, Alan." Jeff's face twisted into a rueful look. "I am going to ask him why, and suggest that Fermat might be better off at home, but I can't tell him what to do."

"Don't even suggest it, then," Alan said, shifting his shoulders a little for comfort.

"Why not?"

The teen opened his eyes to scrutinize his father's face, then closed them once again. "Never mind, Dad. Just... don't."

A quick, sharp response rose to Jeff's lips, but he stopped it before he could utter it, pressing his lips into a thin, disapproving line. A small voice in him seemed to ask, "Do you really want to know why Alan thinks you would interfere?" to which the answer was a reluctant, "No". He shook his head, and the silence descended once more. Finally, Jeff could stand it no longer. "I'm going to give Brains a call. Maybe by the time he's able to get here, Dr. Black will have the paperwork ready." He rose from the bed and headed for the door. "I'll be back soon, Alan."

"Okay."

Jeff stopped at the door and glanced back. Alan still had his eyes closed, and looked like he might be dropping off to sleep. _I know I'm doing what's right for him,_ Jeff told himself as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

xxxx

"How's the f-f-food, son?" Brains asked, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor of the pizza buffet.

"G-Great, Dad!" Fermat, his cheek smeared with pizza sauce, grinned at his father. They had gone back to campus, and Fermat had introduced Brains to his teacher-coach, and to his roommate.

"Fermat is a very integral part of our team, Professor," Mr. Feng had said with a smile. "I'm glad you're allowing him to stay. With this last blow to the school's image, we've lost a couple more team members."

"Wh-Who?" Fermat had asked, suddenly concerned.

"Timothy Delello and Joseph Morgan," Mr. Feng had replied sadly. "We'll be short-handed on the underclassmen side until we can find another player. Fortunately, I do have a couple of people who took the test but whose scores weren't quite as high as our first team. I'll be offering them a spot."

"I h-hope they take advantage of the o-o-o... it," Brains had said. "Thanks for ch-choosing F-Fermat. I know he's e-e-e... thinks it's f-fun."

"We're glad to have him, Professor. And he's not too shabby in class, either."

In Fermat's room, A.J. had been curious. "How'd you hurt your neck, Professor?"

"I, uh, s-slipped in the t-tub," Brains had replied, trying to loosen the collar again.

"Wow. Fermat falls out of bed and you slip in the tub," A.J. had said, shaking his head. "I guess they're right when they most accidents happen in the home."

Fermat had laughed. "N-No matter how it l-looks, we're not usually this a-a-a... danger-prone."

He had also, in a whispered suggestion, asked if they could take A.J. to dinner with them, but Brains had balked at the idea. The scientist knew, from earlier conversations, that the younger boy was the son of his attorney, and he did feel some obligation there. But he also wanted some one-on-one time with Fermat, a commodity rarer than hens' teeth when both were at home. So he had put aside his sense of obligation for the moment, and took his son to one of the pizza buffets-game room establishments.

"You r-ready for some p-pinball?" he asked, grinning. "Think you can t-take the old m-man?"

"S-Sure, Dad," Fermat said smugly. "P-Prepare for defeat."

They were in the middle of a fierce competition when Brains felt his phone vibrate. It was his turn and he was plying the flippers, sending the score higher and higher. A few people had begun to notice and were standing around, watching, making encouraging sounds over the noise of the room. The phone, tucked away in his shirt pocket, vibrated again; he scowled and ignored it a second time, keeping his rhythm going. When it shook his pocket for a third time, he huffed out a breath and let the ball drain. "Y-Your turn, son," he said as he shook his head. Fermat looked up at him with concern, but his face cleared when he saw his father's long fingers draw the phone from its resting place. "Phone c-call. I'll b-b-b... return soon, son."

Fermat nodded, then put his next ball in play. Brains strode from the game room to the slightly quieter restaurant. "H-Hello, Mr. Tracy."

"Hello, Brains," Jeff replied. He paused, listening to the background bells and whistles and asked, "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Uh, y-yeah, sort of," Brains replied, squashing an urge to tell his employer what he wanted to hear. "We're h-having d-d-d... we're eating."

"Oh." Jeff sounded surprised... which he was. His chief engineer tended to bend over backwards to help; this blunt statement was a definite change in Brains's usual response. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Brains, but the doctor is just about ready to discharge Alan. Could you please pick us up once you're finished with your meal?"

Brains closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "Y-Yes, Mr. Tracy. You c-c-c... we'll be there in h-half an hour."

"Good. Thanks, Brains. I appreciate it."

"Y-You're welcome. G-Goodbye." Brains cut off the connection, and folded up his phone. He sat quietly for a minute, thinking, then made a decision. He nodded, tucked the phone back in his shirt pocket and returned to his son. He had to make up a lot of points to catch Fermat.

xxxx

Getting Alan out of the hospital proved to be trickier than Jeff anticipated. The press was still nosing around, and there were more of them now. The news that reclusive Jeff Tracy was there, visiting his son, had gotten about. They finally had to use one of the loading docks at the back of the building, and for once, Jeff was glad of the small, rather nondescript car he'd had to take in Springfield.

"Let's get back to the hotel," Jeff said. "The boys can stay with us tonight."

"I'll t-take you and A-Alan back to the h-h-h... where we're st-staying," Brains said. "B-But Fermat has to be back to c-campus by c-curfew."

Jeff frowned at this, but seeing as Brains hadn't said anything official to him, he decided not to press the issue with the boys in the car. They pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. The press was waiting for them there, too, at both the front and rear entrances. "Hm," he said, "I'd like to get in there without pictures being taken."

"Try c-calling the concierge and have them u-unlock the p-pool entrance," Brains suggested. "I'll p-park over in this c-corner while you d-do."

"Good idea, Brains," Jeff said gratefully, as he pulled out his phone. "That should work nicely."

And it did. Brains pulled up to the outer gate leading to the pool, where the concierge waited for them. They bundled Alan through the opening, which quickly closed behind them. Father and son skirted the covered pool, and disappeared inside the building, the hotel employee on their heels. Brains sighed, and glanced back at Fermat. "R-Ready to go b-back, son?"

Fermat echoed the sigh. "Y-Yeah, Dad. I'm r-ready."

xxxx

The remains of his room service meal lay on the tray, and Jeff finished off his drink. He glanced at his watch; Brains still hadn't returned yet, and he wondered what was holding the man up. _I've got a few questions to ask him._

Though Jeff had offered to order a meal for him, Alan had politely turned him down. He was now lying on one of the double beds in his father's room while Jeff, wanting to give his son some space and quiet, had taken to the suite's living area to eat his meal.

Despite the warming feel of whiskey in his system, the quiet of the room, and the relief knowing that his son was nearby, he was restless. He glanced at his phone, thinking about who he could call, but realized it wasn't conversation that he wanted. Turning on the television, he surfed the channels for a while. A local news report caught his attention; it detailed the arrests made and had interviews with the pertinent local officials, but as soon Alan's name was mentioned, he turned the television off in disgust. He glanced at his watch again, muttering, "Where is he?"

He got up to pace the floor, stopping to peer out through the curtains of his room. The news crews were still there, looking for some sign of him, and he shook his head. Behind him, there was a rustling noise; he turned to see Brains enter. "Brains," he said curtly, nodding once.

"M-Mr. Tracy," Brains returned, closing the door behind him and making sure it was locked. They stood looking at one another for a moment, then Brains rubbed his hands together and blew on them. "G-Getting c-cold out there. N-Not used to it."

"Comes from living where we do," Jeff said, turning fully from the window. He put both hands on the back of an easy chair, leaning on it. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I hear you're leaving Fermat here."

Brains looked a bit startled, then he nodded. "I th-think Wharton's been g-g-g... has helped h-him, despite what's h-happened." He slid out of his jacket, and draped it over a chair. "B-Besides, I wouldn't b-be able to t-teach him and w-work at the same time. He's far too a-a-a... ahead of his p-peers and I'd h-have a hard time f-finding a g-good satellite learning p-p-p-program for him." Ducking into the tiny corner kitchenette, he started the electric kettle and looked for the complimentary teabags. "I m-met Mr. F-Feng, who is Fermat's p-pre-engineering teacher and quiz t-team coach. I'm impressed." He turned from the little cupboards, leaning on the counter, the cup and teabag in his hand. "It's n-not the same for me as it is for y-you, J-Jeff. Fermat isn't the s-son of a r-rich public f-figure, as Alan is. His wh-whereabouts are all over the n-news now; it might be dangerous to l-l-l... allow him to r-remain." He paused, then added, "But..."

Jeff, who has been nodding in agreement, raised an eyebrow. "But what?"

Brains shifted his feet a little, nervously. When the kettle whistled, he took the time to fill his cup and turn the machine off before proceeding. "But h-has this been an issue with your o-other sons? Have they b-been in a position where their n-names have been in the m-media and their whereabouts known?" He paused to dunk his teabag up and down a bit. "The a-answer is y-yes. Virgil and his f-football, G-Gordon and his swimming a-awards... as I r-recall, they were all in the n-news at one time or another. Y-You may n-not have b-been as wealthy as you a-are n-now, but you were st-still a public f-f-f... well-known." He got a spoon from the little utensil drawer and pressed his tea bag out with it, then added a packet of sugar. "Only y-you can decide if it's m-more of an issue with A-Alan than it was with your older s-sons. But I think A-Alan will see it as unfair to him." Brains sipped his tea, and watched his employer.

Jeff's shoulders went up and down with a quiet, resigned sigh. "Thanks, Brains. You've given me a lot to think about, and a different perspective on the situation." He came out from behind the chair and flung himself down into it. Brains moved into the living area and sat on the sofa to his right, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. "What are your plans?" Jeff asked. "Beyond leaving Fermat here, of course."

"I'd like to st-stay until the w-weekend, and see F-Fermat compete... if that's okay with y-you," Brains said. "I'd fly back c-commercial as far as New Z-Zealand..."

"Of course you can stay, Brains," Jeff replied, waving a dismissive hand. "I understand how you feel. Hell, I'd like to see Fermat compete myself. And as for flying back, there's still time to make those arrangements." He yawned, and stretched. "I think I'm going to hit the hay. My body's still screwed up from the time change, but that nap earlier has sort of worn off."

Brains nodded. "G-Goodnight, Jeff. Sleep well."

"You, too, Hiram. See you in the morning." With that, Jeff stood and went off into his room. Brains watched him go, sipping his tea and wondering if his words had really done anything at all.

xxxx

The day was hot, and he found himself standing in the sun, looking down the length of the driveway back to the farmhouse. It wasn't a short distance by any means; the house sat well back from the road. Someone tugged on his hand; he glanced down to see a blond-haired, blue-eyed child of about six looking back up at him. _Alan? John?_ he thought, somehow not recognizing the face.

"Are you ready?" The voice was unmistakable; he turned to find his beautiful wife, Lucille, standing next to him. The wind blew blonde tendrils of hair back and away from her face; her blue eyes sparkled even as she squinted in the strong sunlight. "Are you ready?" she asked again.

He couldn't answer her, because she wasn't talking to him. She was talking to the boy, who was sitting on a small, red bicycle. He recognized it as one that had been the beginner bike for each and every one of the boys... until Alan had tried to copy some of Gordon's friends and their BMX moves and wrecked it. The gash had bled like crazy; it had been too ragged to glue and required ten stitches.

"I'm ready," said the boy, in a voice Jeff couldn't quite place. _Scott? Or maybe Virgil?_

"Then let's go." Lucille put her hand on the back of the bicycle seat as the boy pedaled down the smooth macadam, wobbling precariously from time to time. They gathered speed, until Lucille was nearly running. Then suddenly, she let go, and the boy was riding the bike on his own, well-balanced, moving quickly toward the house. She whooped with delight. "Keep pedaling! Look forward! Keep going!"

The boy raised an arm to give her a quick wave, wobbled, then grabbed the handlebar again. Lucille turned, brushing her hands together, and walked back to where he was standing. "It's hard to let them go," she said as she approached. "But it's gotta be done." Looking full into his face, she reached up to touch his cheek and said, "You know that, don't you, Jeff."

With a gasp, Jeff sat up in bed, covered in sweat, breathing hard. If he had called her name, he couldn't remember, but he could have sworn his cheek tingled where she'd touched him. He brought his ragged breathing under control, then pulled back the warm, damp covers and headed for the bathroom.

_That was some dream!_ he thought as he splashed his face with cold water. _I think I vaguely remember something like that happening, but **I** was the one pushing the boy – I think it was Gordon – along. Not Lucy_. Scrubbing his face dry with a towel, he looked at himself in the mirror. "Are you trying to tell me something, Lucy?" he murmured. "Or just reminding me of something that I should already be considering?" The mirror had no answers, so he shut off the light and went back into the bedroom.

"Dad?" Alan's voice was soft and slurred a bit. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, there, Alan," Jeff said. He sat on the edge of Alan's bed, in the sliver of moonlight that had found its way between the curtains. "Didn't mean to wake you, son. Go back to sleep."

"Don't know if I can," the teen responded. "Things... hurt."

"You need some pain reliever?" Jeff tried to remember the instructions he'd been given and if it was time for Alan to take some more medicine.

"Yeah. If it's okay."

"I'll check." Jeff got up, turned the bedside light on low and checked his watch. "I think it's about time. I'll get you what you need. Just lie back." When he came out of the bathroom with a cup of water and Alan's pills, he found his son had disobeyed orders and was sitting up cross legged on the bed. "Alan, I told you to lie back."

"I needed to sit up," the boy said. "Can't take the medicine lying down."

Jeff sighed and handed over water and pills. "Go easy." Alan nodded and obeyed this time. When he was done, he handed the glass back to Jeff. "Want some more water?"

Alan tried to shake his head, but winced and said, "No, thanks," instead. He gazed at Jeff for a long moment, a quizzical look on his face, then asked, "What were you dreaming about? I could hear you sort of talking in your sleep."

Jeff's eyes widened. "I was? What was I saying?"

"Sounded like, 'Go, go, go'," Alan explained, frowning a little.

Jeff snorted a laugh. "I wasn't saying that in my dream, but... well... it makes sense." He reached up to brush Alan's hair away from his face. "Alan, I want to ask you a very important question, and I want you to think about it carefully before you respond."

"Okay." Alan kept his mien serious, and his eyes on his father's face.

"You know I came here to take you out of Wharton, to take you home so you'd be safe." Jeff paused, clearing his throat a little. "I thought – and still think – it's the right thing to do, for a number of reasons. But, as I've been reminded more than once, I should be considering what you want, too. So, I'm asking – with all things considered – what would your choice be? To stay – and possibly be in danger again – or to go home, and be protected. Because, when you boil it all down, that is my reason for taking you home: your personal safety."

Alan was quiet for a long, long moment, and Jeff waited patiently for his son to speak.

"I'd stay. I have all sorts of reasons for wanting to stay: my friends, track... even classes, believe it or not." Jeff snorted again at that, and Alan chuckled, too. Then he sobered. "I understand the risks involved, and though I'd love to be home and going out on rescues..." here Jeff raised an eyebrow, "I need the freedom to learn who I am and what I can do." Alan looked down for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet his father's. "Besides, if there's one thing I learned this year, it's that no place is truly safe... not even home."

Alan's last comment hit Jeff like an arrow to the heart. He had hoped, he had prayed, that his boys – all his boys – were getting over the traumatic invasion of last spring. But here, here was a sign that it still haunted them, even as it haunted him. He took in a deep breath, and fought to keep it from shaking as he let it out. He was only partly successful. Then he swallowed, hard, and nodded slowly.

"All right, Alan. You've made your point. You can stay."

Suddenly Alan reached out and pulled Jeff to him. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered. "I love you."

Jeff gingerly put his arms around his son's bruised torso and squeezed gently. "I love you, too, son. I love you very much."

_

* * *

Will Alan compete? How will Fermat do? What about A.J.? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	49. Uncharacteristic Actions

_Author's note: _Alan pays a visit to his room. Jeff talks with Mrs. Belvedere. Brains has an appointment. And, because those Tracy boys demanded it, a rescue!! Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and Lillehafrue, Hobbeth and ArtisticRainey for being sounding boards.

_Special note:_ The information on Voronya Cave (also known as Krubera Cave) came from _Wikipedia_, with special attention paid to the interactive slide show from _National Geographic_, May 2005. You can find the link by visiting the _Wikipedia_ article; it's worth a look!

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Where is it?" Dom muttered as he thumbed through the papers on his desk. "I've gotta find it or Gerrick will have my butt in a sling!" He turned one way, then the other, at a loss. "Wait! Is that it?" Without a thought he practically dove under his bed. In doing so, he missed the quiet sound of the door sliding open behind him. 

"Ah hah!" He came out from under his bunk, holding his math homework triumphantly. He stood, turned, and came face to face with... "Alan!" He blinked twice then asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Dom," Alan said with a slight chuckle. "My dad and I are here to get some of my things." He made a slight motion toward Jeff, wincing as he did.

Dom shot a quick glance toward Jeff, who had come up behind Alan. "Hey, Mr. Tracy." Then he turned back to his roommate. "Aw, I'm sorry, man," he said, his shoulders slumping. "Hopefully I'll be back in time to say goodbye. Right now, I've gotta run or I'll be late for math." He edged around his roommate and his roommate's father, grabbed his backpack and hurried out the door. Turning so he was walking backwards a bit, he called, "You're looking better, man. See ya! Bye, Mr. Tracy!" Then he spun on his heel and took off.

"But I'm not... leaving...," Alan protested as he turned toward the door, watching his roommate break into an uncharacteristic sprint. He shook his head a little, making a sour face. "Hmph. I hope he has his inhaler with him."

"I'm sure he does, son," Jeff said. He looked around the room, taking in the posters, Dom's messy desk, and Alan's neat one. "So, this is your new room. A bit different than the one I saw last time."

"Yeah." Alan pulled his athletic bag out of his closet. "Hm. I think I missed laundry day."

"Sit down. I'll do this. And don't worry about the laundry," Jeff said, as he took the bag from Alan. "We can hit a laundromat somewhere and wash up what's dirty."

"You? Washing clothes?" Alan gave his father a skeptical look as he sat down in his desk chair.

"Yes, me, washing clothes." Jeff's glance back was a challenge. "Who do you think kept you and your brothers in clean jeans after your mother died?"

"Grandma," Alan replied bluntly, not looking up from unplugging his computer. "I distinctly remember her doing the wash."

"She did your laundry... once she arrived. Up until she did, I had to do it. And after she came, I still had to wash my own stuff." Jeff began to pull clothes from Alan's chest of drawers. "She figured I should stay in practice for the day she left." He laid a small pile of underwear in the athletic bag. "If you're embarrassed that your father is doing your laundry for you, I'm sure that the hotel would have some sort of service..."

"It's not you washing my clothes, it's going to a public laundromat that worries me," Alan said, glancing at his father. "Can you imagine the headlines... and the pictures?"

Jeff stopped and matched Alan's gaze. There was a long pause, then he sighed. "You have a point. The hotel's service it is."

The teen grunted his acquiescence and finished what he was doing. "What did Mrs. Belvedere say when you told her I was staying?"

Jeff snorted a laugh. "She was surprised, to say the least."

"_Are you certain about this, Mr. Tracy?" Mrs. Belvedere's posture had been ramrod straight, her hands folded on her desk, her face a study of concern and puzzlement. "I am not sure that Wharton will be able to provide the level of security that Alan may require after this... incident."_

"_I'm aware of that, Mrs. Belvedere." Jeff had looked the epitome of calm and aplomb, but inside, he was just as uneasy as the lady facing him appeared. "I have to trust that the police have done what they say they have in mopping up this gang. And... I have to trust Alan to take care of himself." He had smiled slightly. "I'm not going to be able to keep him under my wing forever. Better he learn how to protect himself now, under relatively controlled conditions. It will help him in the future."_

_The director of student services had taken in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her officious persona had risen to the fore and she'd said, briskly, "Very well. I shall make arrangements for his teachers to forward his assignments and notes to him via email for the next few days. How long do you intend to keep him with you?"_

"_Very likely until the end of the week," Jeff had replied. "There's no sense in him staying on campus and distracting the other students. By then the swelling should have gone down enough that he won't be stared at quite so much." He'd smiled widely this time. "Besides, I want to see Fermat Hackenbacker compete in academic quizzing."_

"I bet she was," Alan said, cutting in on his father's reverie. He glanced at the athletic bag in his father's hand. "You about ready with that?"

Jeff glanced down. His hands had automatically packed his son's belongings as his mind had been woolgathering. "I think so. I'll duck into the bathroom and get your things from there."

"Don't forget my dirty clothes bag," Alan called after him.

"I'm on it."

Jeff came out of the bathroom, one arm full of toothpaste, soap, shampoo and such, the mesh bag containing Alan's dirty clothes slung over the other shoulder. He dumped the toiletries into the duffel. "You about ready?"

"Let me leave a note for Dom so he won't think he's missed saying goodbye or anything." Alan pulled out a piece of notebook paper and scrawled, "_See you in a few days, when I'll be back to stay. Alan._" He laid the note on Dom's pillow, and hefted his computer's case. "I'm ready."

"I'll take that; it's heavy," Jeff said, grabbing the case. "You can take the dirty clothes." He thrust the mesh bag into his son's hands, slinging the duffel over one shoulder and the computer case over the other.

Alan looked down at the bag with an expression of disgust. "Gee, thanks Dad."

Jeff grinned. "Anytime, son. Let's go."

The door opened, and Alan stopped just outside. "Uh, Dad? One thing before we leave."

"Yes?"

Alan activated the hand print reader beside the door. "Need to add you as someone who can enter my room." He looked at his father expectantly.

Jeff chuckled, shaking his head slightly, then put his hand to the reader. "All right. Add me."

The teen sighed happily, and entered the appropriate key sequence.

xxxx

He'd had breakfast with Jeff and Alan in their suite, then the two Tracys went off to Wharton, leaving Brains at loose ends. There were still two hours until lunch time at the school, and Fermat was in classes until then. The only thing that he found interesting on the TV was a Weather Channel report about the combination of factors, including a lingering La Niña, that was responsible for lower than normal temperatures in the northern U.S. "Explains wh-why I wish I'd br-brought heavier cl-cl-clothing," he muttered.

The sudden ringing of his cell phone startled him, and he fumbled around for a moment to find it. "D-Daniel Sugimoto?" He clicked on the speaker. "H-Hello?"

The inventor's face appeared in the small screen. "Dr. Hackenbacker? It's Daniel Sugimoto. I'd like to talk to you about those specs I said I'd send. Could we meet, say at the hospital, in a half-hour?"

Brains frowned, pacing around the sitting room and he spoke. "I'm a-afraid that M-Mr. Tracy has taken our v-v-v... rental c-car."

"Oh." Brains's answer seemed to perplex him.

"You could c-come here, to our h-hotel..."

Dr. Sugimoto shook his head. "I don't think so. Mr. Tracy..."

Brains jumped in. "Y-Yes, I understand. It might be a-awkward." He glanced idly out the window, and his eyebrows rose as he saw something that pleased him. "Th-There's a restaurant across the s-street from our hotel... it looks like the food would be p-palatable. Perhaps we can m-meet there?"

"That sounds like a good idea. Would you like me to pick you up?"

"It m-might be a good idea. The road looks b-b-b... well-traveled." He gave his caller the name of the hotel, and they agreed on a time. The call ended, and Brains put the phone in his shirt pocket. He rubbed his hands together. "Now to g-get my g-gear ready, and give my l-lawyers a call."

xxxx

"I don't like this," Scott softly confided to Virgil. They watched, standing a pace or two behind John as he argued with a man in a military uniform. Scott was fairly sure they were speaking Russian.

"Neither do I." Virgil replied. "But who else is going to get those cavers out?"

The call had come in two and a half hours ago, from a radio on top of the Arabika Massif, in the Abkhazia region. The tiny republic, still stubbornly clinging to its declaration of independence from Georgia despite spotty recognition from other countries (and none at all from the world government), was still a volatile place. It was also home to Voronya Cave, the world's deepest cavern.

The call for help had come from the base camp of the caving expedition that was currently exploring Voronya, trying to break the world's record for deepest descent into a cavern. The current record, set five years prior, was 2330 meters below the opening of the cave, and so far, another 70 meters had already been added to the total.

But the expedition was an unlucky one so far. On the final rappel to the level where the cavers currently rested, a belaying carbiner gave way, sending one caver into a near free fall. She fell onto one of her colleagues, and now both had broken bones and concussions. The leader of the party realized that there was no way to get the injured parties back to the surface; they'd had to dive through the icy cold water in two sumps to get where they currently were. So, she called to the base camp through the fiber optic line they'd laid on their way down, and asked for assistance.

"I don't care what they do to get us out," she'd said. "Just get us out!"

As a result, John, Scott, and Virgil were standing near the base of the Massif, waiting to deploy the Mole and dig out the injured cavers. Unfortunately, the local military captain took offense... though what the nature of his offense was, Scott and Virgil had yet to know.

"Damn soldiers," John muttered angrily as he turned away from the captain in disgust.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked.

John took a deep, calming breath, and said, his tones clipped, "Captain Oblivious over there wants us to leave because he hasn't gotten any notification from Sukhumi that we are allowed to be here. 'No permission, no rescue'." He gave Scott a keen look. "How do you want to handle this?"

Scott stood quietly for a moment, stroking his chin in thought. "We could just ignore them and begin operations," Virgil suggested. "I mean, the Mole is pretty much impregnable, and they don't seem to have the level of weaponry it'd take to damage either One or Two."

Scott shook his head. "No, that'd create a backlash in the international community. Sure, most of the _sane_ countries would see it as putting the needs of the trapped first, but they're the ones who don't necessarily worry about us coming and doing what we do best." He glanced over at the captain, who was talking to his men and glancing over at the trio, much as Scott was doing. "The paranoid ones... they'll make a stink and lives will be lost." He huffed out a breath through his nose. "What would Dad do?"

"I'm not sure," John said, scratching his head. "Has he ever come up against this before?"

"Should we call and ask?" Virgil wanted to know.

To that, Scott shook his head decisively. "No, he's got enough to worry about with Alan." He thought a moment more, then his eyebrows went up as he considered a plan. He activated his communicator. "Scott to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five here, Scott," Gordon promptly replied. "What do you need?"

"Can you find out who the leaders of this... country are and get some coordinates as to where we can find them?" Scott eyed John speculatively. "I'm mounting a little retrieval mission."

"I'll do what I can," Gordon said.

"Be quick about it, Gords. We're stuck twiddling our thumbs down here and the clock is ticking."

"F-A-B, Scott. Thunderbird Five, out."

"Now what?" Virgil said. "And what's this about a retrieval mission?"

"Now, we pull the Mole out of the pod," Scott said firmly, "then button Two up tight. As soon as we have those coordinates from Gordon, I want you, John, to take One and fetch whoever you can find at home. If it's a military leader, so much the better. Land in their backyard, street, wherever, and haul them back here as quickly as you can."

"Wait a minute," John said, frowning thoughtfully. "_You_ want _me_ to take One?" When Scott nodded, he asked, "Why?"

"Because _I _don't speak Russian and _you_ do," his older brother reminded him. John slapped his forehead, and Virgil smothered a smile by looking down at the ground and shaking his head. "But," Scott continued, "you'd better bring her back without a scratch!"

"F-A-B," John said, giving his brother a sloppy salute.

"Let's get ready. I want to move as soon as we can get someone with some clout out here to argue with 'Captain Oblivious'."

xxxx

The family restaurant was relatively quiet; the breakfast crowd was gone and the lunch crowd hadn't yet appeared. The two scientists found a booth in a far corner where they could talk undisturbed, except by the waitress, who kept an eye on their coffee cups for refills. Brains ordered an orange cranberry muffin – not because he was hungry, but because he felt it was polite. Dr. Sugimoto did much the same thing, ordering a sticky cinnamon roll to go with his coffee. They made polite small talk, then Daniel Sugimoto pulled out a jump drive.

"The specs are on here," he said wearily. "Do you really think your lawyers can help me?"

Brains nodded. "I've already sp-spoken to them this morning, with M-Mr. Tracy's blessing. They do a lot of p-patent work for m-me, and for T-Tracy Industries. They'll want to t-talk to you about h-h-how the other m-manufacturers might have gotten h-hold of your sp-specs."

Dr. Sugimoto sighed and shook his head. "I really have no idea. It was something I was working on at home, in my spare time." He paused. "I'm a professor at CalTech, in the school of Engineering and Applied Science. I like my job, but... there's nothing quite like the feeling of accomplishment you feel when you've created something that's uniquely yours." He cocked his head to one side a little. "Do you know what I mean?"

Brains nodded. "I d-do." _Though I can never take credit for a lot of what I create. Not if I want to preserve International Rescue's security. _He paused for a moment, then asked, "What m-made you send your son to Wh-Wharton? I'm sure there were m-m-m... quite a few other l-local schools you could have e-enrolled him in."

"True. And perhaps... perhaps I should have kept him at home, or at least closer to me." Dr. Sugimoto shook his head again. "I'd taken a sabbatical to work on my doctorate at MIT when Lee was ready to enter high school. My... my wife left me at that point, and I couldn't deal with being a single father and a full-time graduate student. So I looked for a boarding school where Lee would be relatively close, and well-cared for. My friend, Gary Feng, suggested Wharton." He paused, and took a sip of his coffee. "It was difficult for us, family-wise. I didn't see a lot of him during his first two years there, but I was able to finish my doctorate in that time. By then, Lee was well-established at Wharton, and wanted to keep going there. I couldn't say no, even though I was returning to California for my job."

"Then came the divorce and the custody battle and I started working on my brainchild. Money was tight, and got tighter when the first versions of my idea started showing up. I was spending a lot on lawyers who'd look at the case and sort of shake their heads over the matter. Lee had to apply for an athletic scholarship to return to Wharton and stay on the soccer team." He ran his hand through his hair and down the back of his head. "I don't know where I went wrong."

_There were lots of missteps made here,_ Brains thought. _Lots of missteps that, if I'm not careful, I could make make just as easily, and end up failing Fermat. But it may be too late for Lee._ "F-From what I un-understand, h-he wanted to pl-please you."

"You heard that recording, too?" Daniel said wearily. When Brains nodded, he looked down at his coffee cup, smoothing his finger around the thick rim. "I should have guessed you had. From his tone of voice, from the anger in it, I can't help but think he was using that as an excuse."

"P-Perhaps," Brains murmured. "You w-won't know for certain until you t-talk it out." He paused to sip his coffee and break off a piece of muffin. The waitress came over and refilled their cups, smiling, leaving more creamer containers on the table for them. Brains waited until she was gone to ask. "What do the d-d-d... what medical news?"

"The current thought is that the doctored steroids were too strong for his body weight and whatever the hell those creeps added to them worked to make him more aggressive." Sugimoto mechanically tore a piece from his sticky roll and ate it. He followed it with a swallow of coffee. "He was a good athlete, a good kid. Now, he'll have a criminal record. I just hope..."

"You h-hope?"

Dr. Sugimoto gave Brains a bleak smile. "I hope I can repair some bridges, and guide him back to where he was before. Back to being that good kid."

There was a momentary lull in the conversation, then Daniel offered the jump drive to his companion. "Here. I'll be waiting to hear from the lawyers."

"J-Just a minute." Brains pulled an envelope from his pocket. "Would you p-please sign this?"

Daniel frowned as he took the envelope. "What is it?"

"It's an a-a-a-agreement, saying that neither I nor T-Tracy Industries nor any s-subsidiary thereof will u-use this information for profit nor will we release it to the p-public. All rights are y-yours and will remain y-yours until and unless we l-legally agree otherwise." Brains paused and took a nibble of muffin, washing it down with a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. "I w-want to assure you that what you're g-giving me will be l-legally safe with us." A very quick consultation with Art Trumbull produced the form, which Brains downloaded and printed out in triplicate.

"It looks like it's in order," Daniel said. He took a pen out of his pocket. "Where do I sign?"

Brains pointed out the spot on the sheet. All three copies were signed by both men, and the waitress, who had come over to offer them more coffee, was asked to sign as a witness. Daniel got one copy, and Brains put the other two back in the envelope and back into his jacket pocket with the jump drive.

"I think we're d-done here," Brains said. He glanced down and saw with surprise that he'd managed to nibble his muffin into crumbs.

"Right. I'll give you a lift back to your hotel."

Brains paid for the snack and left the waitress a hefty tip. Then he wrapped his less-than-adequate jacket around him for the short, cool, breezy walk to Dr. Sugimoto's car.

_

* * *

When will the boys find out about Alan's return? Can the lawyers help Dr. Sugimoto?Will International Rescue get to the cavers in time? What about A.J.? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	50. Uniforms

_Author's note: _The news of Alan's staying spreads. The rescue proceeds, with a little help. Penelope weighs in. The coach makes a decision. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Where's the Brain?" Dom asked excitedly as he set his tray down next to Qaeshon. 

"His dad took him to lunch," A.J. said, sounding sad.

"Why? What's up?" Jason asked, pausing to wipe the milk from his lips with the back of a hand.

"Look at this!!" Dom pulled out a piece of paper. Jason snatched it from him, but it was Xavion who ended up with it and read it aloud.

"Yes!!" he cried, giving a clap and shaking his clasped hands. "Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition! Pinky is still in the house!" He grinned. "Wonder if Coach knows yet."

xxxx

The dining room windows shook and the cutlery rattled as a mighty roar sounded outside the home of the Abkhazian Prime Minister Luba Mzhavia. The chandelier's crystals tinkled and the lights looked dim compared to the bright fire outside.

"Mama!" The teenaged boy jumped up from the table and ran to the window. His face had an expression of awe and delight as he turned to his mother and told her, in Abkhaz, "It's a Thunderbird!"

A few moments later, a servant guided a tall man, garbed in the silvery jumpsuit and helmet of the Thunderbirds, to the dining room. "Madam Prime Minister?" said the man in excellent Russian. "I have need of your assistance." He appeared to look around the room slowly. "If I could have a moment in private?"

"Come to my study." The short, plump woman stood from her place at the table, and beckoned to him.

"I apologize for interrupting your dinner," said the International Rescue operative, giving a small bow to those in the room, then turning sharply to follow the prime minister.

In the study, behind a closed door, the young man removed his helmet. Luba looked with approval at the wavy blond hair and the handsome face. "How may I assist International Rescue?"

John smiled slightly, and told her what he needed.

xxxx

"Y-Y-You're s-s-staying?" Fermat's breathless stutter was born half from unbelief and half from excited delight.

"Yep. I'm staying." Alan's smug reply caused Jeff to raise an eyebrow.

"Only as long as he is very, very careful," he said sternly. "I mean it, son. I can't be here to protect you, and I can't provide you with a private security detail. I'm counting on you to take care of yourself and stay out of trouble."

The smugness was gone from Alan's tone as he lowered his eyes and said, "I know, Dad. I'll be careful. Promise."

"Good." Jeff motioned for another cup of coffee from the waitress. "I made a couple of phone calls, and one of the top plastic surgeons in Manhattan has made room in his schedule to see us tomorrow morning." Turning to Brains, he went on. "We'll fly out late this afternoon and stay at the penthouse; I plan to be back here some time Friday. You'll have the use of the suite and the car while we're gone, of course."

Brains nodded gingerly. He'd taken off the cervical collar, tired of the attention it drew to him. "S-Sure, Mr. Tracy. That sounds g-g-g... like a plan."

"So, we'll be back in time to see Fermat compete?" Alan asked, his tone hopeful.

Jeff smiled. "Yes, barring any unforeseen circumstances."

The two boys exchanged grins and a high five. "Yes!" Alan crowed. The men at the table chuckled. The food they'd ordered arrived just then, and they settled down to eat.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Alan?"

Alan's face became serious. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to talk to Coach Evans before we leave. I'm not sure where I stand with the track team..."

"You won't be able to compete like this, Alan," Jeff said automatically.

"I know, Dad. I can't compete now... not yet. Still, maybe I can stay on the team, and sit on the bench until things heal up. Or help with the equipment, that sort of thing." Alan looked down. "He might not want me on the team anymore, not with everything that's happened. But I won't know until I ask him." He gave his father a pleading look. "Please, Dad, can I talk to him before we go?"

Jeff looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "All right. I agree that you should know where you stand. We'll see if he's available after lunch."

A sudden muted bit of music - "Rule, Brittania!" - played, and Jeff fished around in his coat pocket for his phone. He smiled as he opened it. "Hello, Penny. Good to hear from you."

Across the Atlantic, Penelope sat in her drawing room, before the huge fireplace where a warm fire hissed and crackled. Parker was serving tea to both her and a downcast Tin-Tin, who sniffed miserably and occasionally blew her nose.

"Now there, Miss Tin-Tin," the retainer said soothingly. "Put some lemon and honey in your tea; it'll 'elp you with that cold o' yours."

"Thank you, Mr. Parker," Tin-Tin replied, sounding stuffed up. She glanced at Penny, who had just been connected with Jeff Tracy.

"And it is so good to hear from you, Jeff," Penny replied. She smiled up at Parker as he poured out for her. "I thought I'd ring you up and ask how Alan is feeling."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Without warning, Jeff handed the phone to his startled son. "Penny would like an update on your condition."

"Uhhh... hi, Lady P.," Alan said cautiously as he put the phone to his ear. "How are you?"

"I am well, dear boy, but I have heard that you are not. Please, pull the phone away from your ear so that I may see the damage for myself."

Alan sighed, and did as she asked. He kept an eye on the screen as he held the camera further and further away from his face. When Penelope made a motion with her hand, he stopped and gave her a rueful smile. He could almost hear the tsking noise that he saw her mouth make as she slowly shook her head. Then there was a flash of movement, and suddenly Tin-Tin was looking back at him. Her eyes widened in shock and her mouth dropped open. The shock passed quickly though, and she brought her hand, thumb and pinky extended, to her ear as an indication that she wanted to talk to him. He sighed again, and followed her wishes.

"Alan! How are you? What happened? Lady Penelope told me you'd been hurt but... you look awful!"

"Thanks a lot, Tin-Tin," he said wryly. "You don't sound so good yourself. Got a cold?"

"Yeah, I've caught a cold. Not used to this climate," she admitted. "But... your face! I hope you gave the guys who beat you up as good as you got!"

Alan chuckled. "I tried, Tin-Tin, I tried. Managed to break the nose on one of them; that's something, I guess." He shrugged. "They're in jail and I'm okay, or I will be soon. The real heroes were Fermat and our friends... oh, and Gordon, too."

"Lady Penelope told me some of what happened. Maybe you and Fermat can tell me the rest. Send me an email with all the details; I know you don't have time to talk now."

"Yeah, Tin-Tin, sure. Hey, do you want to talk to Fermat?" Alan handed the phone off to his friend as suddenly as his father had to him. "It's Tin-Tin."

Fermat fumbled with the phone a little, finally settling it into his good hand. "H-Hi, T-Tin-Tin. H-How are you?"

"The way he's stumbling over his words, you'd think he had a crush on her," Jeff quietly murmured to Brains.

Brains started a little, then gave his son a long, evaluating look. One eyebrow went up as he listened to and watched Fermat's animated conversation, then he nodded slightly. _Jeff may be on to something there. _

Fermat's talk with Tin-Tin was brief, and he soon turned the phone back over to Jeff. "Lady P-Penelope wants to speak to you again."

"Thanks, Fermat." Jeff put the phone to his ear. "Here I am, Penny."

Alan ate quietly and carefully, half listening to his father's end of the conversation. It had been embarrassing to talk to both Lady Penelope and to Tin-Tin. He hadn't really wanted the first to see him all beat up as he was, and the second's gushing concern grated on him a bit. He couldn't put his finger on just why it did. Her breezy attitude toward him during the spring, and her "one of the guys" camaraderie over the summer had changed and he didn't quite get why. Then there was Fermat's blushing, stuttering, fumbling-over-his-own-feet attitude toward Tin-Tin. Alan sighed internally. _Fermat's probably got a crush or something on her. That's okay, I guess; he won't get any competition from me. But I wish I could have waited to talk to Lady P. until I was looking more myself. There's no telling what she thinks of me now._

"Okay, Penny. We'll see you on Friday then." Alan chose that moment to tune back in on his father's chat. "Goodbye." Jeff ended the call, and smiled at his companions. "Penny will fly out tomorrow to see Fermat compete on Friday, and will bring Tin-Tin with her. It'll save time for us to go directly from here back to the island."

"T-Tin-Tin's going back h-home?" Fermat asked, puzzlement and concern on his face.

Jeff nodded. "I'm afraid so. She appeared to be involved in an incident at her school and everyone concerned thought it best that she leave." That was putting the best possible spin on it; the whole story really wasn't his to tell. He did not for a cold minute think Tin-Tin was actually at fault.

Fermat exchanged a troubled glance with his friend. A vision of Tin-Tin's golden eyes, of the scorpion flying, untouched, from Alan's shoulder, flashed through his mind. Alan had a memory of how the catwalk he'd been hanging from somehow _shifted, _turning his position from precarious to protected. They shared a single concern: could she have used those strange powers of hers?

"Th-That's too bad, Mr. Tracy," Fermat said, choosing his words carefully. "But it'll be g-good to see her again." Hastily, he added, "And L-Lady Penelope, too."

Jeff tried to hide a smile and smother a chuckle. "Yes, Fermat. It will be good to see them both. You'll have to be sharp and make a good impression." He didn't smother a second chuckle as the boy's eyes went wide with the implication of Jeff's statement. Brains grinned at his son's sudden reaction.

Alan nudged his friend. "More of an audience than you expected, huh, Fermat?"

Fermat mumbled, "Y-Yeah," and went back to his food.

Brains glanced at his watch. "W-We'd better h-hurry and f-finish eating or Fermat will b-be late for cl-cl-cl... instruction."

"Oh yeah," Jeff said, consulting his own watch. "C'mon boys, finish up now. I don't think this food would be too tasty cold."

"I dunno, Dad," Alan said between bites. "I think it'd make a great midnight snack."

xxxx

The prime minister was more than willing to help the handsome young man from International Rescue. She sent a servant running down the street to deliver a handwritten message to her brother-in-law, the head of the Abkhazian military forces, telling him that International Rescue needed them; he had fifteen minutes to rendezvous at her home and, for God's sake, wear his dress uniform! Then she smiled sweetly, and asked if John would like a glass of wine. He graciously turned down her offer, and they waited for the gentleman in question to arrive, the prime minister tapping her foot and glancing at her watch all the while.

Some twenty-five minutes after the message was sent, a tall, slightly portly gent wearing a green dress uniform covered with bars and medals stepped into the study. His long handlebar mustache was salted with gray strands and there were silver patches on the temples of what John suspected was a seriously balding pate.

The military man, introduced as "my sister's husband, General Sergei Beria", gave a sharp salute, removed his hat – confirming John's suspicions – and offered his hand. John returned the salute, shook the man's hand, then briefed Sergei on the situation.

"So you see, sir, I have need of a military authority that the captain will recognize as being above his own, someone who can order him and his troops to stand down and let us do our work."

Sergei looked thoughtful, and nodded. "Da. I will come with you. It will save time if I am on site. If you have any other needs that the Abkhaz forces can provide, I can order them right away." He replaced his hat and rubbed his hands. "Perhaps we will ride in your marvelous Thunderbird?"

That had been John's plan, but the gleam in General Beria's eyes made him reconsider for a moment. Then a nuance of what the general had said finally reached him and he politely asked, "We, sir?"

"Yes." Luba had put on a coat. "I am coming with you. That captain needs a lesson in civility, and I shall give it to him."

John stifled a sigh, smiled, and nodded. "Of course, Madam Prime Minister. If you will both come with me?"

When they returned to the danger zone, the Mole was already out of the pod and in position. John helped his passengers from the cockpit, and was amused to see the prime minister march right up to the troops that loosely ringed the Mole. She started shouting, and the soldiers looked at each other in blank confusion, but when General Beria came to stand behind her, they snapped to attention. The unfortunate Caption Oblivious gingerly stepped forward, and saluted both of the people before him. John could have sworn there was a pleading look in the captain's eyes as Luba refocused her harangue directly at him.

Meanwhile, General Beria shouted orders in Abkhaz, and the soldiers fell back, moving a safe distance away in an orderly fashion. Satisfied, the supreme commander came over to John, who had been quietly briefing Scott on the situation. John introduced the general; they shook hands, and Sergei addressed his words to both young men.

"They will be no more trouble for you. Go and do as you must." He turned his head toward the captain and his country's leader. "I pity him. My wife's sister has a sharp tongue."

"So I see," John replied, trying hard to keep an amused tone from his voice. "We will start operations now."

"Good. I will be nearby if you have need of me." Sergei saluted again, and went off to join the soldiers.

"I'd better get going," John said, motioning his head toward the Mole.

Scott held onto his brother's arm. "Not so fast, John. Virgil's already in there, and this is probably just a two man job. I need someone out here to keep an eye on the situation and man Mobile Control."

"And why can't you do it?" John asked, a blond eyebrow rising.

"You know why. I don't speak Russian." Scott sighed. "I know you like to get your hands dirty on rescues; we all do. But right now, you're the only one who can keep an eye on this crew. Moreover, you're the only one who can relay any information or requests we have to the General over there." He put a hand on John's shoulder. "John, I'd rather not make it an order."

There was a brief, tense silence, then John sighed, a short quick breath. "All right, Scott. I see your point. I'll stay." He glanced up at the Mole, sitting patiently. "Better get going."

"Right. I owe you one," Scott said as he clapped John's shoulder. Then he turned and ran for the Mole.

"Damn right you do," John muttered as he turned toward Thunderbird One to retrieve the mobile control unit.

xxxx

"Coach?" Alan knocked on the jamb, and peered into the athletics office. "Coach Evans?"

The man behind the desk looked up. "Alan!" He rose to his feet. "It's good to see you, but God, you look awful. Oh, hello there, Mr. Tracy." Coach Evans held out his hand. "Good to see you again."

"Nice to see you again, too, Coach," Jeff replied with a smile. He put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "Different son, different sport... similar problems, it seems."

Alan shot a puzzled frown at his father, while Coach Evans shook his head. "Not quite, Mr. Tracy. Alan here knew better than to fall in with the steroids crowd."

"Dad? What does he mean?"

"I'll tell you later, Alan," Jeff replied. He folded his arms and motioned with his head in the coach's direction. "You'd better ask the coach what you came here to ask. He's a busy man."

Alan swallowed. "Uh, Coach? I... I wanted to know if I could stick with the track team." The coach opened his mouth to say something, but Alan didn't give him a chance. "I know I have a lot of healing to do; my knees are all cut up; my gut is sore; my shoulder's sprained, and... well... you can see my face. But I've been looking forward to this ever since I made the team. I'm willing to carry equipment, set things up, do whatever I can to help out until I'm well enough to get back to practices and compete." He stopped and took a deep breath to steady himself. "Please, Coach. Don't cut me from the team because of this."

Coach Evans glanced over at Jeff. "I take it he's staying at Wharton?"

Jeff nodded. "Yes, he is. The police feel the gang has been caught and the danger is over. I can't watch over him all the time, even at home, and he has to learn to take care of himself." He shrugged. "It's what he wants, and I'm willing to let him learn."

"Hm." The coach stroked his chin, and gave Alan an appraising look. "What do the doctors say?"

"We'll be seeing a plastic surgeon tomorrow about my cheek." Alan shrugged. "The rest? I'm not quite sure how long it'll be." He gave his coach a hopeful look. "Maybe... two weeks?"

"Make it three. You're in the stands this week; no sense in everyone gawking at you when they should be watching the players. The following two meets you can help with the equipment and sit on the bench." At Alan's gasp of delight, he held up a finger. "I'll want a doctor's clearance, though, before you return to practice, never mind competition. And I want to hear what the plastic surgeon says, too, especially about the timing of any possible surgery" Coach Evans glanced over at Jeff. "The fact is: he's got potential, and my team needs him. Losing Lee and Steve..." He saw Jeff's jaw harden, and Alan's gaze drop to the floor. "I need every player I can get." He held out a hand to Alan. "Do we have a deal?"

Alan brightened, and shook the coach's hand. "Deal."

"So, I'll see you at the meet on Saturday?"

"I'll be the one yelling the loudest."

Coach smiled and chuckled, then held out his hand to Jeff. "You've got a winner here, Mr. Tracy. Not quite the natural that Gordon was in the pool, but he'll get there."

"I know," Jeff replied as he shook Coach's hand once more. "Come on, Alan. Brains is waiting to drive us to Springfield."

"Okay. See you, Coach!"

The Tracys left the office, walking down the corridor together. Classes were changing, and students in the hallways either stopped to gawk at Alan as he passed by, nudging their fellows and murmuring to each other, or they grinned widely at him and greeted him by name. "Hey, Alan!" "How you doin', Alan?" "Good to see you, man!"

Jeff took it all in, then indicated the quickly moving boys with a hand. "Do you know all these guys?"

Alan frowned thoughtfully for a minute, then shook his head slightly. "Actually, no, not all of them." He shrugged a little, mindful of his tender shoulder. "I guess word's gotten around."

His father gazed around as they continued to walk. "I'd say it has."

xxxx

"Change direction two degrees starboard."

"F-A-B." The Mole's engines changed pitch slightly as Virgil implemented Scott's order. The two inside the machine couldn't feel any real change in their position; they were still going down at the same angle. But they both could hear the difference in the engine noise. Not a bad difference, just there, and normal for the circumstances.

"Another fifteen meters, and we should break through," Scott said.

"Reducing speed." The engines changed pitch again, and there was a definite feel that they were slowing. The deck plates shuddered slightly, increasing their shaking minutely and incrementally, as the Mole slowed. After all, it wouldn't do for the Mole to burst through the cavern wall at full speed.

"Slower... slower... two meters per second... one meter... we've broken through! All stop!" Virgil cut the drill bit and the engines simultaneously. "We should be in far enough for access from the forward hatch."

"Turn the lights on at one-sixth power. We can increase it gradually if we need to."

"F-A-B. One-sixth power."

"Mobile Control from the Mole. We've arrived at the rescue zone." Scott unbuckled himself from his seat and made his way to the equipment bay.

"Mole from Mobile Control. F-A-B. Give me an ETA when you're ready to surface, and let me know if the injured will need airlift." The internal speakers compensated for the weakened signal, but there was no vid feed as a result of that compensation.

"F-A-B." Scott took out a backpack and glanced through it quickly. It was supposed to be refilled after every use, but it didn't hurt to make sure. "I've got the med kit. Can you get the stretcher?"

"Sure. We'll need both." The younger man put his helmet on, making sure the spotlight on it worked properly. "Do you think they'll all want a lift to the surface?"

"I don't know," Scott replied, securing his own helmet. "Two more team members made it down to this level while we were dealing with the politics above ground. They may send just one or two people back to the surface with the injured."

"You know the caving community is gonna just _love_ us for this," Virgil said wryly as he pulled out the requested equipment.

"Better a new hole in the ground than a couple of deaths," his brother muttered. "Besides, don't they have to take altimeter readings on the way down?"

"Yeah, they do. From the top of the mountain to wherever they stop." Virgil tapped his helmet. "Thunderbird Five from the Mole, can you read me?"

"Thunderbird Five here." Gordon's voice sounded faint and tinny. "I read you, three by three. No interference but the signal's not the best."

"F-A-B. Do you think it'll work with the translator filters?" This had been a real cause for concern; the team members who spoke English hadn't been in the party that had made it to this level.

"Not sure. Just have to give it a try, Virge. If it doesn't, you may have to rely on your high school French."

Scott opened the hatch and swung out into the semi-darkness, beginning the climb down from the Mole's chassis. Virgil rolled his eyes, and shook his head within the helmet. "F-A-B," he replied as he followed his older brother, an antigravity stretcher secured to his back.

_

* * *

Have Scott and Virgil gotten to the cavers in time? What will Alan's plastic surgeon say? Will Alan learn what happened to Gordon? How will Fermat do in competition? What about A.J.? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	51. Unveilings

_Author's note: _Alan and Jeff discuss Gordon's history. The rescue wraps up. John takes action. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Dad?" 

"Yes, son?"

"What happened with Gordon at Wharton?"

The flight to New York was just a quick hop from Springfield, and easily made. They were spending more time trying to get to the Tracy Building by car than they'd actually spent in the air. Even the limo driver was having trouble coping with the rush hour traffic.

Jeff sighed. He stopped to marshal his thoughts before speaking. Finally, he sat forward to gaze right into Alan's face. "You know that guy who mentioned he didn't want to deal with me because he'd done so before?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Pierce, the creep from the kitchen."

"Right." Jeff hadn't known Pierce's occupation until that moment, but it didn't surprise him. "Well, when Gordon was at Wharton, Pierce was the big sports hero; sort of like your Lee Sugimoto was. He played basketball, baseball, and was on the swim team. Made MVP in all of them his freshman year. He sort of took Gordon under his wing and brought him into his little group of friends." Jeff paused, his gaze shifting to look away, as if he were seeing the past out there over Alan's left shoulder. "Gordon was flattered, of course. Who wouldn't be? He was a mere freshman, but was part of the 'in' crowd."

He turned his attention back to Alan. "Then I started to see a decline in your brother's grades. Just a little at first, not enough to worry about, but they were on a gradual, downhill slide. By the middle of his sophomore year, he was getting Cs as a matter of routine, and I was getting notes and phone calls from his teachers. They were very surprised, I think, when I went out to the school and spoke with them personally. Found out that Gordon was putting all his time into sports; not just the swim team, but basketball, too, and was strength training far more than he really needed to. Coach Evans was concerned, partially because Gordon's grades were about to cut him from all sports, and partially because he'd heard rumors of steroid use among the players."

"Did Gordon use steroids?" Alan asked, his mouth and eyes as wide as his injuries allowed.

"He told me 'No' at the time, but he didn't tell me whether or not his friends were," Jeff replied.

"Did you believe him?"

Jeff nodded. "Yes, I did. I figured later that the amount of training he was putting in was an effort to bring his strength up to that of his friends, without turning to the drugs. However, he'd requested a room change, one that would let him move in with Pierce." He shook his head. "I don't know what it was about Pierce that made me distrust him, but I did, and refused to approve the request. Then I told Gordon that he could participate in only one sport, and that he'd be dropped from that one, too, if his grades didn't improve."

"I bet he didn't like that!"

"No, he didn't. We had a big blow up about it, and he didn't talk to me for weeks, except to ask for money. But Coach Evans agreed with me, and talked to him, and by the end of the year, Gordon's grades had come up to a more respectable level. Moreover, I looked into Pierce's background, and I didn't like what I saw. I was determined to keep Gordon from falling further under his influence as much as possible."

"What did you see?" Alan's tone was eager, and he realized it. He moderated it as he added, "I mean, what made you so determined?"

"Nothing concrete, at least not with Pierce himself, just an overall sense that his family liked to do things in the quickest, easiest way possible, even if what they did was unethical or illegal. There were records of investigations into marginally fraudulent activities, and some civil cases claiming swindles, but nothing blatantly criminal, and very few decisions for the plaintiffs. It was a surprise to me that Pierce was even in Wharton, but then, private schools often are willing to overlook just where the money comes from, as long as it's there." At Alan's shocked expression, Jeff shook his head. "Don't look so surprised, Alan. Private schools, for the most part, are as much businesses as they are institutions of learning. It's natural to think that people who work for a private school are there because they care about their students' future or because they love to teach. Many of them – probably most of them - are, but a lot are also looking at the bottom line. Especially the trustees and administrators. A school with high academic standards, like Wharton, needs money to keep their teachers up-to-date in their fields, or else their image as an elite, literate school suffers."

"Wow." Alan said softly. "I never thought of that." He shook his head gingerly, then sighed. "So, back to Gordon. You didn't like Pierce; you kept Gordon from rooming with him. Then what happened?"

"Early in Gordon's junior year, Pierce was caught using steroids. He was removed from the sports teams and expelled from school. Every other athlete was tested; one or two others were caught using. Gordon _wasn't_ one of them, a fact that relieved me immensely. Soon after, Gordon came to me and apologized. He began to work harder in his studies, and found a balance between his love of sports and his academics." He smiled. "He finished well in both, and gave me cause to be prouder of him than I already was."

"Wow." Alan's voice was still soft and full of awe. He frowned a little. "How come I don't remember this? The stuff about Gordon at Wharton and all. I remember going to his graduation a couple of summers ago, but I didn't know what he'd been up to."

The driver's voice, piped in from the front of the limo, interrupted the discussion. "Mr. Tracy? We've reached our destination."

"Thanks, Henry." Jeff glanced out the window. Things seemed darker outside as they passed into the parking garage reserved for Tracy Industries' top executives. "Looks like we're here. We can continue this conversation over dinner."

"Okay, Dad," Alan said. He looked out the window, too, and sighed.

"Home away from home, huh, son?" Jeff ventured, incorrectly interpreting the deep breath.

Alan shrugged slightly. "I guess so, Dad." _Right now, I think that's what I'd call Wharton. And that's really, really weird._

xxxx

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Five. Gordon?"

Gordon frowned at John's tone. _He sounds a bit... worried._ "Thunderbird Five here. What can I do for you, Mobile Control?"

"Do we have a translation filter for Abkhaz?"

"Translation filter for Abkhaz," Gordon repeated slowly. His frown creased his forehead in deeper furrows as he began searching Thunderbird Five's translation database. "Why do you need it? What's happening?"

"A couple of the military men down here are having a little private conversation. I've been recording it and I'd like to know know what they're saying." John quickly glanced over at the general, who was discussing something with Captain Oblivious just outside the area lit by Thunderbird Two's spotlights and running lights. He could see their figures, and once in a while a pale face would flash in his direction. At first, he had only seen it out of the corner of his eye, but once he had activated Thunderbird Two's external cameras, and patched them into Mobile Control's monitors, he was able to see more. What he saw made him turn on the multidirectional microphone as well. Madame Prime Minister was nowhere in sight, which worried him too.

"I don't see one, John," Gordon said, shaking his head.

"Damn," John swore softly. "I was afraid of that. When I get back to base, I'm going to get a list of all the world's languages, from the most prominent to the most obscure and see what we can do to get translation filters for _all_ of them!"

"Whew!" Gordon said, his frown suddenly melting into a teasing grin. "Here I thought you were going to _learn_ them all!"

John shook his head, but resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. "No, Gordon," he said, also resisting the urge to call his brother the name he was thinking at the time. "That'd take a lifetime, and I have plans for my future that don't involve linguistics."

Thunderbird Five's current occupant opened his mouth to reply, when Scott's voice interrupted him. "Mole to Thunderbird Five and Mobile Control."

"Thunderbird Five here, go ahead." "Mobile Control, reading you four by four."

Scott winced as the out of sync stereo replies echoed in his ears. "We're working on stabilizing the victims, but they're going to need immediate airlift to a trauma center."

"F-A-B. I'm on it," John replied. "I'll inform General Beria. He can tell me which hospital has the trauma center, and give them a heads up." _Might break up the cozy little tête-à-tête those two are having._

"F-A-B, Mobile Control," Scott acknowledged. "I'll call again when we have an ETA to the surface."

John got up from Mobile Control and approached the general. Captain Oblivious saw him and came to attention, causing General Beria to turn toward John, giving him a nod. "How can we assist you, young man?"

"We'll need to take the injured cavers to a trauma center," John explained. "Where is the closest hospital that deals in trauma?"

"Ah, our hospital in Sukhumi is well-equipped. I am sure it will suffice," the general said.

"Does it have a trauma center?" John was polite, but wanted to press the point. _These cavers need specialized care; a local hospital here might not be able to provide it._

"Our hospital has the best facilities in the region," Beria insisted. He looked over John's shoulder, and smiled. "Is that not right, Madame?"

John turned in time to see Luba start, her eyes wide with sudden fright. It seemed she'd been standing there in the shadows; for what purpose, John could only guess. Then she regained her composure, smoothed her coat, and stepped fully into the light. "That is correct, General. Our hospital is fully capable and equipped."

"So," Beria continued, beaming, "I will notify my forces and have medical helicopters here to take the victims to the hospital."

Something in his manner – perhaps his insistence on the helicopters - set off warning bells in John's head, and he paused for a moment. Then, using his most polite manner, he said, "Thank you, General, but that won't be necessary. A transfer from our digging machine to a helicopter would take more time than these people may have. It will be more efficient if we airlift them to the hospital ourselves."

The general blinked once or twice, as if surprised by John's refusal, then took in a deep breath and let it out. "As you wish," he said, his tone a shade less gracious.

"If you could notify the hospital, we would appreciate it," John told him.

"I shall do so when your people are ready," Beria said. He turned back to the group of soldiers, taking Captain Oblivious by the shoulder and drawing him into conversation again.

The prime minister walked up to John, standing by his side, her eyes on her brother-in-law. "Your green Thunderbird is a mighty craft. It took me some time to examine it all," she said aloud, putting a hand on his shoulder. John looked up at her, and she began speaking soft and fast, never taking her eyes from Beria. "I wished for him to make that officer apologize; he would not. Told me that 'he was just doing his job'." She shook her head, and shot him a quick, shrewd look. "You should know; we have no trauma center."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze, and walked off again, staying in the light. General Beria looked to see which way she went, then resumed his discussion. John thought about her words for a moment, then quietly called, "Thunderbird Five from Mobile Control. Gordon, find me the nearest trauma center, and make it snappy!"

In the cavern, Virgil was working on the climber who had fallen, fitting an inflatable splint to her arm. Her skin was clammy, evidence of shock. The expedition leader, one Gabrielle Sidorova, had done what she could to keep the victims warm. The two cavers who had joined them were the team medic, and the only fluent English speaker, Hong Kong native Wong Zhongyu.

"So, where do you go from here?" Virgil asked Gabrielle, who hovered over his shoulder, watching how gently he dealt with her half-conscious teammate. Zhongyu translated into Russian, and the team leader shrugged.

"We go up. We make record; all is done," Gabrielle replied in broken, Russian-accented English. She grinned, her wide smile showing a set of gleaming teeth. "The hole you make... we are last."

"What do you mean?" Virgil asked as he fastened the straps of the backboard.

"She means that, because of the hole you've created, no one will be able to go any deeper," Zhongyu said, removing his helmet long enough to push his dark hair back. "Unless your machine fills in the hole as it leaves, other 'cavers' might use the tunnel for an entrance, and go deeper from here."

"Claiming that they'd gone all the way down themselves?" Virgil glanced over at Zhongyu, who nodded quickly. "I'm sorry, but we really did have to make the hole." He turned his attention back to work, and made sure the lightweight blanket was tucked in around the victim.

"I know. And it's all right. As Gabrielle said, we'll be the last to break the record." The interpreter smiled. "Besides there are some very promising Karst caves in China."

Virgil shook his head slowly. "Let's get her to the Mole. Then we can see how Scott's coming along."

Gabrielle took one end of the backboard and Zhongyu the other. Virgil kept a steadying hand on the board until they reached the huge digger. Virgil tapped a few keys on the sleek controls he wore on his wrist, and a small door irised open above the hatchway. Another tap, and a multi-part square beam telescoped out, each section locking into place as it reached its full length. "Wait here and don't put her down. I'll get the basket." He climbed quickly to the hatch and inside the Mole. In a moment, he had a Stokes basket, and rigged it with a harness. He then attached the harness to a cable draped over a block and tackle. The other end of the cable was fastened to a winch. When all was secured to his satisfaction, he climbed back down and activated the winch. The block and tackle moved outward as the cable lowered the basket to the cave floor.

"Put her down gently," he instructed. Once the backboard was in the basket, he fastened it in with clamps and tested them before standing. "Okay, is one of you coming with us?"

Zhongyu and Gabrielle conversed in Russian for a few moments, then Zhongyu turned to Virgil. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to where Scott and the medic were working on the other victim. A large man was crouching nearby, holding the victim's hand. "Yes, Piotr over there is going. He speaks Abkhaz and will be able to translate at the local hospital."

"We may not be bringing your teammates to the local hospital if it doesn't have a trauma center," Virgil warned them. He paused, then added, "I think it'll work, though. One of our people speaks Russian." He nodded. "It'll work out."

"Good," said Gabrielle. She called to Piotr, who kissed the hand of his teammate, and joined them. She introduced Virgil to Piotr using Russian, and Zhongyu translated.

The two men shook hands, then Virgil said, "Come with me; I'll need you inside." He indicated the Mole with a movement of his head, and Piotr's face lit up. He said something to Virgil that the pilot didn't understand.

Zhongyu laughed. "He says he's very excited to ride in a Thunderbird!"

Virgil just smiled and nodded, then began to climb back into the Mole, Piotr following.

xxxx

"Mole to Thunderbird Five and Mobile Control." Scott was securing the second victim as Virgil powered up the digging machine. "Mole to Thunderbird Five and Mobile Control."

"Mobile Control, here. What's your ETA, Virgil?" "Thunderbird Five to Mole, receiving you three by three."

"We're twelve minutes to the surface, Mobile Control," Virgil said. He glanced at the monitor which showed a view of the cavern outside. Gabrielle, Zhongyu, and the medic had disappeared further into the darkness, away from the Mole, following Scott's orders. "Two patients and one passenger to airlift to the nearest trauma center."

"Which isn't in Sukhumi," Gordon said. "The nearest one is in Georgia's capital, Tbilisi." He had found the information that John had requested.

"Mobile Control to Mole. Does your passenger happen to speak Abkhaz?" John crossed his fingers. The prime minister now sat on a folding camp stool not far from where her brother-in-law was trading jokes with the soldiers. The night was getting chilly, and he wished he could do something for the brave lady who sat there, a rough blanket over her knees. His eyes narrowed, and a plan came to mind.

"Yes, he does, John. Why do you ask?" Virgil sounded puzzled.

"Can you ask him to listen to and translate a conversation for me? Gordon, download what I sent you while I tell the general that the Mole on its way back."

"Here's the download, guys," Gordon said. "I've tightened the transmission beam; hopefully, it'll get through."

Virgil and Scott sat, tense, waiting for the information to finish transmitting. All of a sudden, a gruff male voice sounded out in a language they didn't understand. But Piotr, who had insisted on sitting near his teammate, Illya, glanced up with a cry. Scott turned and beckoned him forward.

"Gordon, can you use the filter to ask our passenger – his name is Piotr - to translate this into Russian? I know it'll be time consuming..." Scott frowned as he realized that they might not get the answers that John wanted as quickly as he seemed to want them.

"Mole from Mobile Control." John's voice cut in before Gordon could reply. "I'm back. I've given the general an ETA of 25 minutes."

"Twenty-five?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah. Just a hunch I had. And I caught your last transmission to Five. I can understand whatever he translates." John quickly asked Piotr to turn the Abkhaz into Russian for him. Piotr agreed; he began to listen intently, then his eyes widened, and he rattled off a sentence in Russian for John. This continued for a few minutes, then John spoke again, saying, "Thank you, Piotr."

"What was that all about?" Scott asked, puzzled. He checked their progress. "Four minutes to the surface."

"We don't have much time, so listen to me. General Beria is hoping to get his hands on the Birds. At first, he was planning on trying to get on board with his troops and force us by taking hostages or some such nonsense." Using his helmet communicator to continue his conversation, John quickly started breaking down Mobile Control. "Now he thinks we're going to the hospital, and he can have us arrested there when we land to deal with the victims. So, we're going to move fast – ugh, this thing is heavy – and try to keep him off balance. I've nearly got Mobile Control stowed now..." There was a pause, and John chattered something to someone in Russian. Virgil and Scott could hear a muffled voice, then their brother replying with a light laugh. "Whew. He wanted to know if I needed help, but fortunately I didn't."

"What do you need for us to do?" Scott asked.

"I'll open up Thunderbird Two once the Mole is wholly on the trolley," John said. "Whatever you do, don't stop. Get that trolley going the minute the clamps are locked, and head at best speed to the pod. I've explained that we'll be moving quickly... ah! I see you're heading out now."

Virgil had been focusing on piloting the Mole out. "I wish this thing moved faster," he muttered. "It sounds like we're going to need all the speed we can muster."

"We've caught him a off balance," John said. "That's good. I'm going to douse the spot and running lights, and open the pod. You can back in by the pod's interior lights, can't you, Virge?"

"Watch me," Virgil said with a grin. "I always was good at parallel parking."

Scott could hear John murmur in Russian to someone. "John? What's going on?"

"I've got to give a lady a lift home. You don't mind if I take your ride, do you, Scott?"

Virgil chuckled, and Scott blew out a seemingly frustrated breath. "Don't see how I can stop you. You've got the keys."

John laughed. "Thanks, Scott. I promise to fill up the fuel tank when we reach Tbilisi. Thunderbird One, out."

The half-rumble, half-scream of Thunderbird One's engines could be heard outside the Mole, even as Scott felt the telltale bump that meant the back end of the Mole had cleared the ramp and was inside the pod. One more quick bump, a shuddering as the interior clamps settled around the trolley's caterpillar tracks, and Virgil unfastened his safety belt.

"John's probably got the chassis lowering now by remote control, so I'd better go on up to the flight deck and get us in the air," he said as he headed to the hatch. "You and Piotr should get our patients ready to disembark."

"F-A-B," Scott said, but Virgil was already out the hatch, climbing halfway down the ladder, and dropping the rest of the way to the caterpillar treads, then vaulting to the pod floor from there.

Scott looked at Piotr, who grinned back at him. Toggling the Mole's communications switch, he called, "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five here, reading you five by five. You ready for that translation service now, Scott?"

"F-A-B, Gordon. Translate starting now." Scott smiled at Piotr, and indicated the bed that held their female patient. "Let's take her first."

The translation echoed in the Mole a moment later, and Piotr looked up at the hidden speakers. He turned back to Scott and said slowly, "F-A-B."

Scott sighed and shook his head.

xxxx

"I thank you for allowing me to sit in your Thunderbird. You were very kind," Luba said as Thunderbird One streaked toward Sukhumi, and her home.

"You looked cold," John replied, glancing at her and giving her a smile. "It was the least I could do for the Prime Minister of Abkhazia." He paused, turning back to his instruments. "It is I who must thank you for your warning."

"I am glad you interpreted it as such," she said. "I had gone all the way around your green Thunderbird, hoping to speak to you without Sergei's knowledge." She shook her head, a few strands of salt and pepper hair escaping the bun at the back of her head. "He will not be pleased. He will assume I told you what his plans were." There was resignation in her voice. John realized that, for all her sharp-tongued bravado, this lady knew that her brother-in-law had the military might behind him to remove her from power... or from life, which would amount to the same thing.

"You didn't, and I have proof of it." He pulled a jump drive from a port in Thunderbird One's communications console. "Here. I recorded his plans as he was making them. I had them translated, and that's how we stayed one jump ahead of him." He handed it to Luba, who turned it over in her hands. "I saw you stand up to 'Captain Oblivious' out there. I'm sure you can stand up to the general... especially with this as ammunition."

She nodded slowly. "Yes. I think I will have a word with a few other members of my cabinet. An emergency meeting, perhaps." She suddenly smiled at him. "I think we will discover a sudden need for a new military commander. Just because he is my sister's husband does not mean he can get away with this."

"I'm sure your sister will agree with you once she hears that," John told her with a grin. He flipped a couple of switches. "I think this is your stop."

Thunderbird One landed where it had before, with just a small bump as the landing gear hit the ground. _Need some time in the simulator,_ John thought. _Scott would put this baby down light as a feather!_ He unbuckled his safety harness, and helped Luba out of hers.

Servants, children, and husband all rushed toward the Thunderbird as John gallantly aided the prime minister from its confines. She immediately started bawling orders, sending the servants scurrying. Then she turned to him and said, with a loud, clear voice, "On behalf of the government of Abkhazia, I offer our official appreciation and gratitude for your efforts in rescuing the researchers in Voronya Cave. May you continue to have success in all your endeavors." She held him by his upper arms and gave him a kiss on each cheek. "Fly safely... wherever you may be going."

John bowed. "On behalf of International Rescue, I accept your kind words and good wishes. Thank you again for your assistance, Madame Prime Minister."

"You are most welcome, young man. But now you'd better go." She glanced back at her son, whose eyes were wide with awe. "Before someone asks for a ride."

"Goodnight, Madame." With that, John turned smartly on his heel and walked back to Thunderbird One, his stride lengthening and pace increasing with every step.

"Mama!" Luba's son asked as his mother hurried back to the house, still giving orders left and right. "What was it like, riding in a Thunderbird?"

"Very fast. Nice and warm," she said briefly. "I'll tell you more later."

xxxx

"So, how was the pizza?" Jeff asked as he put down his wineglass.

"Good," Alan replied. "Kinda hard to eat the usual way, though." He waved his fork in the air. "My face is still sore."

Jeff sat up, concerned. "Do you need some painkiller? I can go get it..."

Alan shook his head, then winced, and sighed. "No, Dad. I'll get it in a little bit." He sat back with his tumbler half filled with soda, and sipped through his straw. When he'd finished swallowing, he asked, "So, how come I didn't hear about all this stuff about Gordon? Where was I?"

"You were in grade school at the beginning, staying with Grandma during the school year. I was still building things up on the island, finishing up Thunderbird Five, getting the organization ready. I talked with Grandma about it, but she didn't think you needed to know, or would even understand." He sighed, and took another sip of wine. "I'm sorry if you feel you were kept out of the loop."

Alan sat silent for a long period, and Jeff became concerned about his son's eventual response. He sipped his wine, and picked up another piece of pizza, beginning to eat it as something to do. Finally, Alan fidgeted a bit, and finished his drink with a long, noisy slurping sound. He blew out a breath, and slumped in his seat.

"I guess I could have asked... I mean, Gordon's my closest brother, and now I feel like I missed a big piece of his life. There's a whole chunk of time where I didn't know what was going on, and I feel like I should have." He shook his head slowly. "How can I say we're close when...?"

Jeff heard the emotion in Alan's voice. "Son, listen to me." When he knew he had his son's attention, he went on. "You were just a little boy then, maybe nine or ten. Your life was school, and Grandma, and missing your mom and your dad." He wasn't going to sugarcoat it; he knew how much Alan had missed him at that time, and if he could do it over, he would do it differently. "Gordon wasn't part of it on a daily basis. You love each other; you stayed in touch as much you could, but even had you asked, I don't think he would have told you. It was his world, his life at the time." A thought occurred to Jeff, and he smiled. "Maybe that's a perk with the life we lead now, and with you being the youngest. We are all interested in what you're doing, and we all want to be a part of it in some way or other. We want to keep you close, even when you're far away." He chuckled. "Believe it or not, you've kept us sane by keeping us in touch with the world outside the island, reminding us that there _is_ a world outside, even when what we heard were the complaints."

Alan snorted a little, and Jeff took a moment to drain his glass. "You and Gordon are close, as close as two brothers can be. But neither of you are ever going to know everything about each other's lives. I think you can be forgiven for not knowing about what was going on with him while he was at Wharton."

There was another long pause, and then Alan straightened. "I guess so. But I am so going to tell him off about it next time we talk!"

"Hey, why don't we watch some TV?" Jeff said, trying to turn Alan's attention to other things. "See if there's a game on somewhere."

"A game of what?" Alan asked, rising slowly.

"Football, of course. Tis the season, y'know." Jeff rose from his seat, and refilled his glass. He offered Alan a refill, which the boy refused at first, but accepted when Jeff reminded him, "You'll need something to wash down those medications."

"I'll get them," Alan said, stiffly heading off to his room to find his pill bottles.

"I'll find a game while you're gone." Jeff sat on the couch put his glass down on the coffee table, and picked up the remote. Turning on the televid, he began to surf the channels, and his eyes opened wide when he lighted on a news channel. He hollered to Alan, "Hey! The boys were out on a rescue!"

Alan hurried back down the hall, his meds bottle clutched in his hand. "Really? Where?"

Jeff responded by turning up the volume. "Two cavers are in critical condition following their rescue from the world's deepest cave. They were part of the latest group to break the world descent record, going down 2400 meters into Voronya Cave, located in the autonomous Georgian republic of Abkhazia. They were so far underground that International Rescue was called in to pull the injured team members out. International Rescue airlifted them to the trauma center at the main hospital in Georgia's capital, Tbilisi, where they are undergoing surgery."

The anchorwoman paused for a beat, then resumed her commentary. "In related news, we have reports coming from Abkhazia that the supreme military commander of that region has been replaced. Our sources indicate that the head of the unrecognized, _de facto_ national government, Prime Minister Luba Mzhavia, has accused General Sergei Beria of allegedly planning to arrest International Rescue's operatives and impound their vehicles. We will have more on this particular situation as it develops."

"Arrest and impound?" Jeff's eyes narrowed. "I'd like to see them try." He glanced at his watch, then over at Alan. "It's around ten a.m. tomorrow at home. I'd better give the boys a call and get the details." As he went in search of his phone, he pointed at the bottle in Alan's hand. "Those don't do you any good sitting in the bottle."

"Yes, Dad." Alan watched as his father stalked off, then put the bottle on the coffee table. He picked up the remote, searching for another newscast that might have more information on his brothers' latest rescue.

_

* * *

What will Alan's plastic surgeon tell him? How will Fermat do in competition? What will the older boys say when they see Alan? What's going on back at Wharton? And what about A.J.? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	52. Unamused

_Author's note: _The older boys finally see their brother. Alan visits the plastic surgeon. Time passes, and Fermat competes. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

John scrubbed his hands over his unshaven face, and listened intently to the recording. Scott lifted his coffee cup to his lips, taking a sip of the lukewarm beverage, leaning back in his chair. Virgil lay on the sofa, hands behind his head, eyes closed. Every time his next oldest brother picked up a paper ball to lob at him, he would murmur, "I'm awake, and I'm listening, so quit rustling around." They'd all had breakfast, and this was the final part of their debriefing. 

In Thunderbird Five, Gordon listened, too. The recording was a translation of the one John had made, done from Abkhaz into Russian by someone Luba Mzhavia trusted. It had been broadcast on Sukhumi's most powerful radio station, with a header, "To International Rescue, with thanks." Gordon had no idea how long it had been broadcasting, but Thunderbird Five's computers caught it around nine that morning. It was now ten, and the boys were listening to it as it was transmitted through the Russian language filter and translated into English. In his head, John kept making corrections.

The translation stopped, and the boys relaxed a little. Scott finished off his coffee, and set the cup down on his father's desk. "That general must have thought we were idiots," he commented with a snort.

"Maybe not idiots, but he was counting on us not understanding him," John said, shaking his head.

"Or even suspecting him," Virgil added. He pushed himself into a sitting position. "Never knew you were such a suspicious type, John."

"I've gotten that way working in Five," John admitted. "Have to decide quickly if a call is genuine or not. You'd be surprised at how many crank calls I get."

"Ahem." John looked over at the computer screen. Gordon was scowling back at him, arms folded. "Are we done now?" he asked. "I'd like to get some sleep if possible."

"Scott?" John turned to his older brother, an inquiring tone in his voice.

Scott stood up and stretched. "You were field commander on this one, John. You're in charge."

"Ah, right," John said. He took a deep breath and let it out. "Well then, I declare this debriefing..." He was interrupted by the vidphone ringing. "Hey! It's Dad!"

"Dad?!" Virgil hopped up from the sofa and joined John and Scott behind Jeff's desk. "Where's he calling from?"

"New York," Scott said as he pressed the buttons to answer the call.

"New York?" Virgil asked, frowning. "What's he doing there?"

"Can you patch me in?" Gordon asked.

"Sure," John said, his fingers flying over the keyboard as Jeff's face came into view on the screen. Gordon's picture was relegated to a much smaller box in the upper right hand corner. "Hey, Dad!"

"Hey there, John, Scott, Virgil," Jeff said amiably. "Can you call Gordon and patch him in? I want to talk to all of you at once."

"I'm here, Dad," Gordon's voice came over the speaker as Jeff plugged his phone into Alan's laptop.

"Ah, good." Jeff sat down in front of the computer, letting the built-in webcam and microphone serve as his vidphone. On the monitor, he could see a split image: the three oldest boys on half the screen, their images distorted, tall and thin, and Gordon on the other half, looking more normal, but still a bit stretched out. He relegated Gordon's picture to a smaller frame, and the view of his older sons took up the rest of the screen, both pictures losing their distortion. Satisfied, he sat back, a stylus in hand. "I heard on the news that you'd gone out on a call."

The three in the office glanced at each other. John raised an eyebrow in question. Virgil shrugged slightly, and Scott put his hand out, palm up, fingers together and aimed at John. John sighed, and said, "Yeah, Dad. We were. Cavers in Georgia... or Abkhazia, whichever floats your boat."

"How'd it go?"

"Well, we had a bit of a hold up at first," John said, a wry tone to his voice. He proceeded to tell his father, as succinctly as possible, what happened. "We just finished debriefing; the _de facto_ prime minister had the recording I'd made translated into Russian for us and we sent it through the filter. I'll have a better translation for you by the time you get home."

Jeff nodded. "Thanks, John. How are the victims? Last I heard, they were still in surgery."

"That's all we've heard, too, Dad," Gordon piped up. "I'll keep listening for any updates."

"Good man," Jeff replied.

There was a lull in the conversation, then Scott asked, "What are you doing in New York, Dad?"

"And where's Alan?" asked Gordon.

"Well, Scott, I'm in New York to take Alan to a plastic surgeon," Jeff drawled. "As for Alan, he's right here."

The old three sons looked at each other with consternation. "Plastic surgeon?" Scott asked. "It's that bad?"

Jeff blinked, then huffed out a surprised breath. "That's right. None of you have seen him yet, have you?" He glanced over at Alan, who was lightly biting his lower lip. "Alan? Your brothers want to see you."

"Dad..." Alan began, trying to protest.

But his father would have none of it. "It's okay, Alan," he said. "Let them see." He vacated his seat, and motioned for Alan to take it. The boy sighed, and obeyed.

He assayed a smile, and raised a hand in greeting. "Hi, guys."

There was a long silence on the other end. Alan caught a glimpse of his brothers' faces before dropping his gaze downward. Gordon's eyes had gone wide, then his face quickly fell into an angry scowl. Virgil's mouth rounded as his eyebrows rose, and he gave out a low whistle. John subtly sat straighter, his face becoming an impassive mask; only the slight downward turn of his lips signaled his displeasure. Scott clenched his jaw tightly, and knitted his brows into a fierce glower, giving him a determined and livid expression.

"It doesn't feel as bad as it looks," Alan hastened to explain. "And it really looks better than it did the other day... the swelling has gone down a lot."

John forced himself to relax, and give his brother a slight smile. "I'm sure it does, Alan. Still, I'd like to beat the living daylights out of the guys who did this to you."

"I hope you gave as good as you got, Sprout," Scott said, unclenching his jaw and trying to sound jocular.

"I tried, Scott," Alan replied, raising his gaze to the screen. "I remembered some of what you've been teaching me. It helped a lot. Still, it was pretty much three against one."

Scott nodded, his lips twisting in a rueful expression. "We'll work on that, Sprout. We'll work on that."

Virgil leaned forward a bit, a concerned frown on his face. "Why the plastic surgeon?"

Alan gestured toward the gauze that still swathed his cheek. "The doctors were concerned about scarring here. It... it... they..." He took in a deep breath, let it out noisily, then continued in a softer voice. "They bashed my face against a tree a few times."

Virgil nodded slowly, his face going hard, his eyes now angry. The oldest two Tracy sons shared a glance before turning their attention back to the youngest, who looked down again at their scrutiny.

Gordon broke the increasing silence. "Did Pierce do this to you?" he blurted out. Alan looked up at the question. He could see the gaze of his older brothers flick to one side, probably to the view they were getting of Gordon. His scowl had deepened, and his voice had dropped to a low growl.

"Uh, not really, Gords; he didn't get much of a chance." Alan smiled sheepishly. "I kinda took him out early." He touched the back of his head. "Skullbashed him when he had me from behind. I think I broke his nose."

Gordon relaxed a little, and gave a quiet snort. "Always knew you had a hard head... and a thick skull."

The mild quip broke the tension somewhat, and John said, "We've heard the transmission, so we know some of what happened. But you'll have to give us a better play-by-play when you get home."

Alan turned toward his father, who came to crouch beside the chair, in range of the camera. "I think he'll have to write up an email, or call some other time for that, boys," Jeff told them. "I thought a lot about what you said, about the advice others gave. Alan's staying at Wharton."

"You're letting him stay?" John asked, surprise coloring his tone.

Jeff nodded. "It's what he wants." He put an arm around Alan's shoulders. "And he's promised to be careful."

"He'd better be," Scott said, a grin beginning to steal across his face, "or I'll come out and drag his sorry ass home myself."

"You'll have help," John promised.

"Ditto," Virgil said, smirking.

"Me, too," Gordon added.

"I guess that makes it unanimous, Alan," Jeff said mildly.

"Okay, okay!" Alan put his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "I'll be really careful. Sheesh!"

"So, now that we know what you look like – and I can't say it's an improvement – what about track?" John sat back, folding his arms. "Will you have to drop out?"

The younger boy shook his head. "No, but I'm benched for at least three weeks and have to get a doctor's clearance before I can resume practices. Coach says I can help out with the equipment, though, so it's not like I'm totally out of the loop."

"Coach Evans is good with that kind of thing." Gordon stifled a yawn behind a hand. "He'll work with you to keep you on the team."

"Speaking of Coach and staying on the team and all..." Alan stabbed a finger at his brother's picture. "I want to talk to you about your swimming career at Wharton. Dad's been telling me a few things I didn't know before."

"Ah, oh." Gordon rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. We can talk, but not now. I need to get back to work."

"More like get some sleep," John said. He fixed his eyes on his father's image. "We've been up half the night, Dad, and all morning now. We're whipped."

"Then off to bed with you, boys. I'll call again later. Scott?"

The eldest Tracy son finished his yawn and blinked a couple of times. "Yeah, Dad?"

"I'll be sending my revised flight plan to you soon. Brains and I will stay to watch Fermat compete on Friday and will likely leave sometime Saturday. Tell Kyrano and Onaha that Tin-Tin will be flying home with us. Lady Penelope is bringing her to Wharton."

"Tin-Tin's coming home?" Virgil asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yes, she is. We'll discuss that later," Jeff assured him. "For now, goodnight, boys."

"G'night, Dad." "Talk to you later, Dad." "Goodnight, Alan. Take care." "See you guys later."

Alan added to the chorus. "G'night, guys, and thanks."

"Later, Sprout." Scott's comment was the last heard before the call was ended.

Alan sat back with a sigh. Jeff stood, his hand still on his son's shoulder. "Are you all right, Alan?"

The boy shrugged. "I guess so. I really didn't want them to see me like this." He turned so he could see his father without wincing. "I didn't want them to worry."

"They were going to worry no matter what, son. They're your brothers and they care." Jeff squeezed Alan's shoulder gently. "By seeing you, they'll only worry as much as they need to, if that makes any sense."

"They won't blow things out of proportion?"

Jeff smiled. "Something like that." He took his hand away and stepped back. "Now, I know it's early, but you should get some sleep. You didn't get much at the hospital or last night either." He picked up the medicine bottle. "Did you take these?"

"Uh, no, Dad. I got wrapped up in looking for more news on the rescue, then the call..."

"Take them. Now." Jeff handed the bottle over to his son. "Then get to bed."

"Sir, yes sir!" Alan took the bottle and gave his father a sloppy salute... with the hand that held the bottle. The pills rattled around inside.

"Go on with you." Flapping a dismissive hand, Jeff turned from Alan and started unplugging his phone from the laptop.

"Hey, Dad?" The teen was peering around a wall, obviously caught by a last minute thought.

"Yes, son?"

"Do you think we could do some shopping tomorrow before the appointment? These past couple of weeks have been hard on my clothes."

Jeff considered the idea for a moment. "I guess so. Wouldn't hurt for me to pick up a few new things myself."

Alan smiled as wide as his face would permit. "Great! Thanks, Dad!"

He ducked back, but reappeared when his father called, "Alan!"

"Yeah?"

Jeff pointed an emphatic finger at his son. "Don't expect to shop for shoes. I think you bought more than enough last time you went."

"Ah... okay." Alan disappeared again, and Jeff chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

xxxx

"Y'know, John, it's a damned good thing I'm up here."

"Why's that, Gords?"

"Because if I was at home, I'd already be on my way to go beat the crap out of Pierce." Gordon's bad mood had reappeared. "I mean, this guy used to be my _friend_. We were almost roommates. Then he goes and lets this happen to my little brother." He snorted, a sound of disgust, then began to pace before the screen. "He might not have landed a punch, but what he did... he could have stopped it."

Inwardly, John sighed. He was bone-tired, and he knew Gordon was, too, or else his younger brother wouldn't be talking the way he was. Still, he knew it'd be best if he stayed and listened. _Gordon's need for sleep will win out over his anger; I just have to give it time._ He leaned back in his father's chair and picked up a stylus, tapping it on his chin unconsciously. "I know you were tight with him while you were at Wharton. Were you still in touch with this guy? Were you still friends?"

The question made Gordon stop, and he looked away, uncomfortable. "No... I didn't stay in touch. We saw each other a couple of times after he was kicked out, but that was about it." He shook his head. "And when I looked back on it later, it always seemed he was subtly making fun of me because I worked so hard at my swimming. He said it'd be so much easier if I just... did what he did and took the steroids." Gordon's face twisted into a perplexed frown. "I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it. I don't understand why." He clenched a fist, then actually looked at the screen and opened his hand. "It was so tempting, looked so easy. But I couldn't."

John raised an eyebrow and nodded as he considered his brother's statement. "It might have been the easy way, Gords," he intoned, his voice deadpan and serious, "but it wouldn't have been... the cowboy way."

Gordon blinked a few times, looking stupefied, then he burst into peals of laughter. John chuckled, pleased at the effect his little family joke had on his morose brother. Gordon doubled over, one hand on the monitor chair, his eyes tearing up at the force of his merriment. Eventually, he brought his laughing down to the occasional chortle, wiping his eyes as he collapsed in the chair.

"Man, that felt good," he said, still chuckling. "Now I'll have to drag out all Dad's _Riders In The Sky_ recordings when I get home."

"No need. I think I have most of them in Five's data banks." John shrugged. "Gotta listen to something when I'm off-duty."

"Speaking of which, I should be off-duty and getting some sleep, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah. And I'd like to do the same, if you don't mind."

Gordon grinned. "Okay. Point taken. Thanks, John. I needed that. Ever since I heard about Alan..."

"I know." John drew invisible circles on the desk top with the stylus. "I've been worried, too. I shoved it to the back of my mind during the rescue, but it all came back when we got home. Still, as bad as he looked, I was glad to see he was in one piece."

"Me, too," Gordon agreed.

"And for the record, I think part of the reason you couldn't take the steroids was the fact that Dad – and Mom, when she was alive – always preached having a healthy body. Steroids aren't exactly healthy... at least, not the way that Pierce was using them. They have their proper place - in medicine."

"You're probably right." Gordon yawned, stretching. "I'm hitting the hay, John. Goodnight, or should I say, good afternoon?"

John echoed his brother's yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth. "'Sleep well' fits the bill. Later, Gords."

"Later, John."

xxxx

The light that Dr. Phillips shone on Alan's face felt hot and he closed his eyes against the brightness. The doctor gently probed and prodded, making his patient wince and draw in a hissing breath.

"I'm sorry, Alan," the surgeon said. "But that's good news, really. The nerves are still working."

"Mm-hmm," Alan replied, not sure if he could actually speak during the examination.

"Looks like the hospital did an excellent job of cleaning the lacerations." Dr. Phillips looked through the strong magnifier in the center of the circular light. "No detritus that I can see." He held a gloved hand to his nurse. "Gauze, please."

Alan could feel the doctor patting his cheekbone gently. "Just a little bleeding there, Alan. Nothing to worry about."

As the examination progressed, Alan could hear his father shifting position in the chair across the room. He could hear the doctor's breathing, noisy through the mouth cover's accordion folds. The nurse was a hovering presence in the background, barely discernible.

At last, the light was turned off and withdrawn. "Denise, let's get some pictures of this," Dr. Phillips said as he rolled his stool back.

"Pictures?" Alan asked, blinking against the change in lighting.

"Yes, Alan. We'll need them as records so we can see the progress that's been made and the way the scar pattern develops." The doctor pulled off the paper mask, and removed his gloves, washing his hands thoroughly. As he did, he addressed his comments to both patient and patient's father. "I can't do anything right now; it's far too early. Your face has to heal and scar tissue needs to develop before we can decide on a way to treat the scars." He turned away from the sink, leaning up against the counter and folding his arms. "Depending on how the abrasions and lacerations heal, you may not even need surgery. The scars may be small enough and few enough that you decide to live with them. But if they're not, I would probably recommend dermabrasion or laser resurfacing. And, truthfully, it would be better to wait until you're out of school to perform the procedures. That way you won't miss any class time."

"So, I wouldn't be having surgery for a while?" Alan asked. "Possibly not until the school year's over?"

Dr. Phillips nodded. "Unless you wanted to do it over Christmas." He smiled. "Personally, I'd rather not spend my holidays with my face all bandaged up."

"If he did have the procedures during the school year, how long would he be out?" Jeff asked.

"He could resume normal activities within a week, two at the outside. Healing takes longer than that, and he'd have to avoid unnecessary sunlight for three to six months."

"Hmph." Jeff said as he and Alan exchanged glances. "A bit difficult where we live, but we could manage." He straightened. "I think we'll wait on it then; see how things look in the spring."

"That's a good choice," Dr. Phillips said, nodding. "The wounds should be fully healed by then."

"Doctor?" Alan's voice was hesitant. "Since I'm not having surgery, when do you think I could, uh, run track again?"

The doctor chuckled. "I'll give you a letter, if you like, that says you can return to sports in three weeks. But I'm sure you'll need a note from your local physician as well."

Alan nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

The doctor dropped his arms and patted Alan on the shoulder. "Let Denise get some pictures of the damage; it won't take long to know if we've got good shots. Then she'll bandage you up again, give you some wound care instructions, and you can go." He held out his hand, first to Alan, then to Jeff. "It's been a pleasure meeting you both."

"Same here, Doctor. Thanks for fitting us into your schedule," Jeff said as he shook hands.

Dr. Phillips smiled. "Happy to oblige." He turned to the nurse, who had come in with a digital camera. "Denise, he's all yours."

Denise smiled at her patient. "Okay, Alan, just turn your head a little bit to the right..."

xxxx

"What time is it, Dad?"

Jeff sighed. "It's two thirty. Don't worry, we'll get there in plenty of time. The meet doesn't start until five."

Alan, impatient, bounced up and down a little on the balls of his feet. He slung his overnight case over one shoulder, and took the handled shopping bag that his father gave him. Jeff took his garment bag out of the plane's hold, and added his own overnight bag to the laptop he was already carrying.

"Why don't we ask for a skycap or something?" Alan asked. "This stuff is awkward."

"Alan, as tempting as it is to always hire someone to do things for us, sometimes it's faster if we do them for ourselves." Jeff was beginning to sound exasperated. "It's not far to the main terminal, and Brains will be there to help us load the car." He glanced over his shoulder. "You do have the new vidcam, don't you?"

"Yes, Dad. It's in the shopping bag." Alan let out an exaggerated sigh. He adjusted the overnight case on his shoulder, keeping a hand on the strap and his elbow tucked in. His midsection didn't hurt anywhere near as much as it had, but he did want to spare it any bumping from the suitcase.

He glanced back, waiting for his father to finish buttoning up their plane. Once Jeff had closed the hatch and joined him, the two walked out of the hangar together... only to be confronted with a long, pink car.

"If I may, Master Alan?" Parker, standing straight and tall beside the open door to FAB-1, stepped forward, offering to take Alan's bags.

"Parker!" Alan's eyes widened with delight, and he smiled, a wider smile than he'd had for days. "Good to see you, man!" He pushed the bags in the chauffeur's direction. "They're all yours!"

Parker took Alan's offering, then stepped close to Jeff so he could speak quietly. "Beg pardon, Mr. Tracy, but Milady thought I should take Master Alan's bags first, seeing as 'e's 'urt an' all."

Jeff nodded and sighed. "I understand, Parker. Carry on."

By this time, Penelope and Tin-Tin had stepped from the car. Alan smiled bashfully and raised a hand in greeting, "Hey, Lady Penelope! You're looking... fab!"

"Why thank you, Alan," Penny replied, smiling graciously. "You are looking much better than you did when last I saw you." She turned her eyes toward Jeff, who still had his hands full. "Jeff, how wonderful to see you again!" Stepping over, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, one hand cupping the side of his face.

Tin-Tin took the opportunity to approach Alan. "Hey, Alan. It's good to see you," she said, sounding a bit shy. A slight blush spread across her cheeks, and she linked her fingers together, letting her hands rest against her stylish skirt.

"Good to see you, too, Tin-Tin." He stood awkwardly, glancing at her quickly, then turning his attention back to his father and Penelope.

Jeff grinned as he set down the laptop. "Good to see you, too, Penny." He returned the kiss, sliding an arm around her waist. Then he raised his eyes to the car. "Hello, Tin-Tin! How are you?"

"Hi, Mr. Tracy! I'm fine!" The young woman rocked back and forth on her heels a little as she turned back to Alan. "You really do look better, Alan. The swelling's gone down. Does it hurt?"

Alan watched for a moment as Parker offered to take Jeff's bags, and saw his father and Penny drop into quiet, intimate conversation. He tore his eyes away, and looked back at Tin-Tin. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked if it hurt... your face, does it hurt?" Tin-Tin's expression was still solicitous, but there was a touch of disappointment in her voice.

Alan was oblivious. "Uh, no, not much anymore. Just when I try to open my mouth too wide, like when I yawn. And it's still a bit sore to the touch."

By this time, Jeff and Penny had joined the young people. "As I was telling your father, Parker, Tin-Tin and I arrived only an hour ago," Penelope explained. "I called Brains en route to discover when you were due to land and decided we would wait for you."

"Cool!" Alan rubbed his hands together. "Now I know we'll get to Wharton in time. Parker's driving!"

"I beg yer pardon, Master Alan," Parker said, sounding affronted. He offered his hand to Tin-Tin, assisting her as she stepped back into FAB-1. "I adhere to all the traffic laws... except in emergency situations."

"And, as eager as I am to see our Fermat compete, this is _not_ one of those situations," Penelope said firmly, more to Alan than to Parker. She gracefully took her place inside her car, and Jeff followed, sitting next to her.

Alan found his seat, and glanced over at Tin-Tin. It seemed odd to see her wearing a skirt and blouse, and he thought that her blazer might be too light for the cool weather they'd been having. She had crossed her legs at the ankle and tucked them partially under her seat, and he struggled to think what was different about them. _I've seen her legs plenty of times on the island; she always wears shorts. Wait – I think I know. She's wearing heels. Yeah. That's what's wrong. She never wears heels back home._

Parker pulled away from the hangar smoothly, and they headed west, towards the slowly descending sun.

xxxx

"Hey, guys!" Robbie peered out from behind the rear curtain, trying hard not to disturb it. "Look at the crowd!"

"I thought quiz team didn't get a lot of spectators," murmured Aaron Blanding, a sophomore, and one of their new players.

Devdan peered out over the freshman's head and his eyes widened. "We do not. Usually only a few of our instructors will attend. There are quite a few more than usual this evening." He turned his head to one side and smiled at Fermat. "And it seems that our young Mr. Hackenbacker has a cheering section."

"I recognize that woman in pink," Aaron said, grinning. "She's the one who picked Fermat and Alan up for spring break last year. Wow, who's that babe sitting with her? I'd like her phone number!"

Fermat glared at Aaron, then headed away from the curtain.

xxxx

The first round went well. Fermat quizzed out quickly, answering his two challenges with ease. The first time he did so, there was wild applause and even shouting and whistling from a section of the audience. After that first incident, he noticed Mr. Tracy talking to Alan, then Alan spreading the word to the others that were there: Kay, Zave, Jason, A.J., and Dom. After that, there was less shouting, no whistling, but louder applause. And not just for him, but for the Wharton quiz team in general. He had known that Lady Penelope and Tin-Tin were in the audience, and Parker's attendance only engendered a quick, "Of course!" in his mind. But he was surprised to see Mr. Trumbull in the crowd, sitting with A.J. His own father sat with Mr. Tracy, and grinned from ear to ear when Fermat answered his challenges. Mr. Tracy himself had a vidcam with him and was recording the event. _Oh no! Wonder if it's streaming live to the rest of the guys._

But the other team was very good, and by the time the first round ended, the score was close, with Wharton holding a mere two point lead. The upperclassmen retired to the seats behind the staging area, and the underclassmen took their places. The jump seats had been placed in front of the long tables this time, and tested before the contest began. Even so, they were tested again, with each player standing up when told to. Finally, Mr. Feng was satisfied, and he gave his place to the other team's coach. The two were alternating as officials to keep things as free from favoritism as possible.

Fermat felt a knot of worry growing in his stomach. It was one thing to quiz at some obscure school before a handful of strangers, but this was different. This was _his_ school, those were _his_ teachers, _his_ friends out there cheering him on, and that was _his_ _dad_ who was looking on with obvious pride. Instead of feeling uplifted by a sense of support, he felt burdened down by the weight of expectations. The knot twisted tighter as the second round began.

_

* * *

How will Fermat do in round two and beyond? Will Wharton win? What will Tin-Tin have to say? And what about A.J.? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	53. Unvanquished so far

_Author's note: _Quiz rounds two and three, and a last dinner before returning to the routine. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Lillehafrue, ArtisticRainey, Hobbeth, susanmartha and Math Girl for being sounding boards, providing questions or confirming answers. The Latin phrase is the provincial motto of Newfoundland and Labrador, according to Wikipedia. One quiz question – with answer – is based on a similar question my husband answered during his own days of academic quizzing (with the same results). The mention of Walter Schirra was written before his recent death. And yes, Steuart is spelled correctly.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Fermat sat in the third chair, designated "Wharton three". They were assigned seats in alphabetical order, so Aaron sat to his right, and Tom Lopez sat to his left. He wiped suddenly sweaty hands on his uniform slacks, and leaned forward a little, as Mr. Feng had taught him. 

"Everyone settled?" The other team's coach, a tall, balding gentleman whose dark pate gleamed in the overhead lights, smiled at the contestants. He glanced at his sheet of questions, adjusted his mike, cleared his throat, and said, "Let's begin." He paused, then read, "History. Name five of the Mercury Seven astronauts."

Fermat knew he should let Robbie take the question but he couldn't help himself. He knew the answer, and jumped to his feet. Robbie did so, too, and someone from the other team was also standing. Aaron looked up at Fermat with a puzzled look. The coach referred to the laptop computer, and glanced toward Wharton's side of the stage.

"Wharton one."

As Robbie began to answer the question, counting on his fingers as he said each name, Fermat sat down. In the audience, he could see Mr. Tracy and Alan were both paying close attention to the response.

"Mercury Seven astronauts were, uh, John Glenn, Scott Carpenter, Gordon Cooper, Virgil Grissom, and, uh... Walter Schirra!"

The coach intoned, "That is correct. Point to Wharton." The audience broke into appreciative applause.

Fermat barely smothered a snort of laughter at Alan's stunned expression. Mr. Tracy was quietly laughing, while trying to hold the vidcam still, and Alan exchanged his expression of disbelief for a glare in his father's direction. Fermat's attention was brought back to the here and now as the applause died down and the coach cleared his throat again.

"Science. Using the smallest exponent, numerically define a nanosecond."

A player from the other team stood as Fermat jumped to his feet; he prayed he was faster.

"Wharton three."

Fermat relaxed a little as he answered the question. "A n-nanosecond is a 1000 to the negative ninth power second."

"That is correct. Point to Wharton."

Fermat sat down, sparing a moment to glance out at the audience again. His father was grinning from ear to ear and paused in his clapping to give him a thumbs up. The coach glanced over his shoulder briefly, then turned back, a puzzled expression on his face. _I don't think he's heard this much applause at a quiz team meet before,_ Fermat mused.

The next few questions were split evenly between Wharton and their opponent. In fact, the Wharton underclassmen were able to pick up a point by replying correctly to a question that the other school, Robert Courmier Academy, missed. So it was with a confident air that the Wharton players anticipated the last question of the round.

"Literature. Name the most famous of the U.S. Colonial Era female poets."

An answer popped into Fermat's head, and before he could think about it, he was on his feet. Tom, the designated player for literature, was also up, as were two players from Courmier. The coach glanced at his laptop, and called, "Wharton three."

With a troubled look at his teammate, Tom sat down slowly. The two players on the Courmier side remained standing, waiting to see if Fermat had the correct answer. Firmly, Fermat said, "Anne B-Bancroft."

He could hear Tom's soft, "No!" beside him as the coach said, "That is incorrect. Courmier two."

Fermat sat down slowly, blinking his eyes in shock, the audience groaning at his _faux pas_. The opposing team's player confidently replied, "Anne Bradstreet."

"This ends round two, part one," Courmier's coach stated. "Will the teams please prepare for part two?"

Robbie pulled at Fermat's jacket sleeve to get him moving. "C'mon, Fermat. It's not th' end of th' world," he murmured.

But Aaron had a different opinion. "You should have let Tom answer it!" he hissed. "That was _his_ specialty!"

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry!" a flustered Fermat whispered back. "I th-thought I h-had the a-a-answer!"

"Don't do it again!" Aaron muttered. He plunked himself into a chair, folding his arms and scowling. Miserable, Fermat sat as far away from him as he could.

"Poor Fermat," Tin-Tin whispered to Alan. "He looks miserable."

"Yeah, he doesn't like to be wrong," Alan replied. "Wonder why he answered that one. He told me he wasn't in charge of lit questions."

"We can ask him later," she replied, as she tried to catch Fermat's gaze. When it seemed she had, she gave him a vibrant smile and a little wave.

"He should have gotten the question about the Mercury astronauts." Alan continued as if he hadn't heard her at all. "Can you believe that other guy didn't even _mention_ Alan Shepard? What planet has he been on?"

"Earth, I'm sure," Tin-Tin replied, distracted. She kept her eye on Fermat, and was rewarded as the younger boy sat up straighter and returned her smile with a sheepish one of his own. Once contact had been acknowledged, she turned to her companion. "Maybe he just likes the name 'Walter' better than 'Alan'."

Alan shot her a look of disbelief before Lady Penelope reached over to shush them both.

By the end of round two, Wharton's lead had been reduced to one point. The tension had been building, not only in the players, but in the audience as well. "I never knew how cool this could be," Zave murmured to his brother. "It's almost as good as sports."

Round three found the four underclassmen sitting behind the table. Fermat sat at one end, with Robbie beside him. Aaron sat at the other end, still fuming. Mr. Feng, officiating during the last portion, continued this role; Courmier's coach would take the second half of the round.

"Since Courmier is behind, they get the first question," Mr. Feng announced. "Discussion or calculation is for sixty seconds, and you may begin when I say 'Go'. Is that understood?" He glanced at both sides; each boy raised a finger to show that they had received and understood the instructions. "Very good. Let's begin." He shuffled the papers he had on the podium. "Art. What American art movement was propounded by Grant Wood, Thomas Hart Benton, and John Steuart Curry?" He hit a button on a timer. "Go."

The Courmier team put their heads together, discussing the question in low, excited voices. It was obvious that at least one member had no idea what the question was about, but that at least two were in agreement. The buzzer went off noisily far faster than Fermat had thought possible, and the team quieted, looking toward Mr. Feng.

"Your answer?" he asked firmly.

"American regionalism?" one of the team members cautiously responded.

There was a pause, then Mr. Feng said, "That is correct. Point to Courmier."

There was a smattering of polite applause. The Courmier team members grinned at each other, and the one who answered wiped his hand across his brow with a quiet, "Whew!" Wharton's team, on the other hand, sat up straighter, their expressions tense as they waited for their first question.

Mr. Feng turned toward their table. "Music. Which nineteenth century English composer was responsible for the hymn, 'Onward, Christian Soldiers'?" He pressed the button on the timer. "Go."

"Aaron? This one's for you," Tom said softly.

"I know! I know!" Aaron replied. "Let me think! Nineteenth century... English... there are so many." He glared at Fermat. "You know _this_ one?"

"N-No, I don't," Fermat replied, not looking at Aaron.

"Don' know why, but somehow, the name Sullivan comes t' mind," Robbie muttered.

"Sullivan? Sullivan?" Aaron pronounced the second word thoughtfully, then his face went from puzzled to delighted. "Yeah! Yeah! I know now!"

The buzzer chose that moment to sound off, and Mr. Feng asked, "Your answer?"

"Sir Arthur Sullivan," Aaron said confidently.

There was a pause again, and Mr. Feng replied, "That is correct. Point for Wharton."

The audience applauded with much more enthusiasm now. Fermat leaned over and murmured to Robbie, "H-How'd you kn-kn-kn... where'd that c-come from?"

"Singin' hymns in church, I s'pose," his teammate replied with a shrug.

Courmier's next question was on government, and they answered it handily. Fermat's stomach tightened and his nervousness grew as Mr. Feng fixed his gaze on Wharton once again.

"Geography. Name the tallest peak in the eastern United States and the state it is found in. Go."

"That's easy," Tom said confidently. "Mount Washington's in New Hampshire."

"But that's wrong," Robbie insisted. "Tallest is Mount Mitchell in North Carolina."

"Uh uh," Tom countered, shaking his head. "Washington."

"Nope. Mount Mitchell."

"I'm the geography expert!"

"An' Ah'm th' natural science one!"

The two glared at each other, then Fermat broke the impasse. "Go with R-Robbie. If we g-get it wrong, we g-get it wrong," he said morosely.

"Okay." The buzzer went off in the middle of Tom's muttered statement. "_You_ can blow it this time, Bennett."

"Your answer?" Mr. Feng called.

"Tallest peak in th' eastern US is Mount Mitchell, in North Carolina," Robbie stated flatly.

Mr. Feng consulted his papers, while Aaron crossed his fingers. Finally, "That is correct. Point for Wharton."

Robbie grinned from ear to ear while Fermat let out a breath he'd been holding. "See, Ah told ya," the blond said quietly, nudging Tom.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The sophomore waved a dismissive hand, his comment all but drowned out by the appreciative audience reaction.

The opposing team's next question was literature oriented, and they very nearly didn't get it answered. One of the players blurted out a reply, a guess really, and the whole team was surprised to find discover that their guess was correct. Their relief was noticeable over the light applause.

"Mathematics." All three of his teammates glanced at Fermat, who sat up, alert, and picked up the pencil. Mr. Feng noted this, and continued. "Calculate, to the 1000ths, the volume of a pyramid, where the area of the base is fifteen square centimeters, and the height is eight centimeters." He pressed the timer. "Go."

Fermat thought for a moment, then began to write. The other players squashed their natural inclination to peer over his shoulder, and left him alone. He checked his work and checked it again, not putting down his pencil until the timer went off. Then he laid down the implement and looked toward Mr. Feng.

"Your answer?"

Fermat spoke slowly, being very careful to pronounce the numbers without a stutter. "The v-volume of the p-pyramid is 39.996 c-cubic centimeters."

There was the now familiar pause, and Mr. Feng said, "That is correct. Point to Wharton."

Robbie patted Fermat on the shoulder, and Tom grinned at him. Even Aaron gave him a grudging, "Nice work."

The round went back to Courmier for their last underclassmen question. It was language, and with language questions there were sometimes different rules. A challenge could be general information, or identification of a particular tongue, or it could be a translation. In the case of a translation, the designated player was given an opportunity to see what he was dealing with on a screen and to copy it down. Once the copy was made, the timer was started, for two minutes instead of one. The challenges were chosen specifically with the player in mind so they wouldn't be presented with a tongue they hadn't studied. The line was also usually a famous phrase of some sort to make it a little easier to fill in any gaps.

The Courmier squad was given a translation, something in German. One of the team members scribbled down the phrase, and when he was through, the countdown began.

The entire room was silent as the player worked. Dom leaned forward, wishing he'd thought to have the yearbook photographer on hand. Jason silently tried to translate the phrase in his head. Xavion's arms were folded; he was beginning to get bored. Qaeshon took notes on the competition; he didn't see anyone from the school paper there covering the event. Parker gently snored in the seat behind Jeff, who had handed the camera over to Alan for a while. Tin-Tin watched Fermat as he leaned on the table with his casted arm, her pretty face creasing into a frown. Penelope leaned toward Jeff, who put an arm around her shoulders. Brains had his elbows on his knees and his chin propped up on his folded hands. Art Trumbull had an arm around his son as A.J. impatiently waited for his roommate to step up to the plate again.

The buzzer went off, startling several in the room. Mr. Feng turned to Courmier's squad. "Your answer?"

The player took a deep breath. " 'Was herauf geht, mus herab gekommen'. What goes up, must come down."

"That is correct. Point to Courmier."

The applause this time was louder and heartfelt, congratulating the squad on their effort. Mr. Feng waited until the applause died, then turned to his own team.

"Language, translation."

The Wharton boys' eyes widened, and they looked toward Aaron, who had been assigned Atif's specialties in language and music. He sat straighter, and picked up the pencil.

"Translate the following Latin phrase." The phrase flashed up on a screen between the two tables, and Aaron began to write it down as Mr. Feng read it. " 'Quaerite primum regnum dei'." He watched patiently for Aaron's signal, then started the timer. "Go."

Again, as they had with Fermat, the boys refrained from looking over Aaron's shoulder. He wrote down the words he knew for certain first, puzzled over the others for what seemed an eternity, then looked to his teammates. They moved in to assist.

"Look f-first k-kingdom God," Fermat muttered. He glanced up at Aaron, then Tom. "I d-don't get it."

"Ah do... Ah think," Robbie said. He took a second pencil and scribbled something below Aaron's translation. "Try that."

"Makes sense to me," Aaron replied, nodding. The buzzer rang, and the Wharton boys sat back to wait for their coach. Fermat crossed his fingers beneath the table.

"Your answer?"

" 'Quaerite primum regnum dei'," Aaron quoted. " 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God'."

Mr. Feng checked his answer sheet. With a small, proud smile, he said, "That is correct."

The small crowd erupted into loud applause! There was a shrill, familiar whistle, and Fermat whipped his head around to see his father, standing and clapping, then putting his fingers in his mouth for another whistle. He laughed, watching as Jeff pulled on Brains's arm, trying to make him sit down.

"You're as bad as the kids," Jeff said when he'd finally succeeded.

"Th-That's my b-boy up there," Brains countered, grinning. "D-Don't you tell me you w-won't be d-doing the s-s-same thing when it's A-Alan on the tr-track."

Jeff laughed. "You've got me there, Brains. But at least I'll be outside!"

xxxx

"Y-You did really w-well tonight, R-Robbie," Fermat said when the meet was over. Wharton had maintained its lead, answering all the questions in the second part of the third round, and defeated their opponent by two points.

"Yeah, Ah guess so," Robbie said with a shrug. "Makes up for sittin' out the first meet, anyway." He chuckled. "Ah noticed that our squad wasn't given any natural science questions."

"B-But the older s-squad got two, and you g-got to answer a history question," Fermat countered. "Plus you were a b-big help with everything e-else." He nudged the blond. "At l-least you didn't blow a question l-like I d-did."

Robbie gave him a thoughtful look. "How come you answered that one anyway? It wasn't your specialty."

Fermat shrugged. "The answer j-just p-popped into my h-head and I c-couldn't help myself." He paused, looking up to see his father waiting for him. "I'll r-remember that f-for next time." Grinning at his companion, he said, "C'mon, I'll i-introduce you to my d-dad."

He led his teammate over to the small group that included Brains, the Tracys, Lady Penelope, Tin-Tin, Parker, the Trumbulls and his friends. "Hey, e-everyone! This is m-my t-teammate, R-Robbie B-Bennett."

There was some handshaking and murmured, "A pleasure," and, "Nice to meet you," as Fermat introduced him around to everyone.

"Excuse me." Fermat and Robbie turned to see Mr. Feng come up with some of the other team members. "If I may borrow these two boys for a while, we are having an ice cream celebration in the snack shop."

"I w-was g-going to take F-Fermat out for d-dinner," Brains said quietly.

Fermat looked from his coach to his father and back again, indecision on his face. Mr. Feng smiled. "Go with your dad. He's come a long way to see you. We'll have other victory celebrations." He glanced at Robbie. "Come on, Robbie. There's ice cream waiting."

"See ya later, Fermat," Robbie called, waving as he followed Mr. Feng.

"L-Later!"

"Hey, Pin... I mean, Alan," Jason said, coloring a little, "when are you coming back to campus?"

"Should be late tomorrow morning," Alan replied. "Dad's gonna drop me off before he and Bra... Professor Hackenbacker leave for home."

"But right now, boys, we're going to head for dinner," Jeff said. He turned to Art Trumbull. "Art? You and I haven't had that talk I promised you yet. Why don't you and Andrew come to dinner with us?"

Trumbull looked down at his son, who turned pleading eyes toward his father's face. "That sounds like a good idea, doesn't it, Andrew?"

A.J. simply nodded.

Jeff now faced Xavion, Jason, Dom and Qaeshon. "Would you boys like to come with us? We'd be glad to have you; my treat."

"Well, yeah, we'd like to, Mr. Tracy, but I think it'll have to be another time," Xavion explained. "With our first track meet tomorrow, I've got a lot to do, and need an early night."

"I'd like to go, but Kay and I are in charge of the snacks for tonight's kung-fu movie marathon." Dom grinned.

"Don't want to get half the dorm mad at us for not bringing the pretzels!" Kay confirmed, nodding.

Jason took a deep breath and gave Jeff a sheepish smile. "I'm going to have to bow out, too, Mr. Tracy. I'm expecting a phone call from my parents." At Jeff's questioning look, he added, "They're somewhere in Siberia, I think. We don't get to talk much. Time zones, y'know."

"Then I guess we'll have to plan this for next time," Jeff said.

"You're on, Mr. Tracy," Zave replied. He pointed at Alan. "Pinky! You gonna be here for the meet?"

"Coach says I'm in the stands, but yeah, I'll be there," Alan told him.

"Then the pizza's on you tomorrow because we are gonna _win_!"

Everyone laughed or chuckled, and when the laughter died down, Jeff glanced at his watch. "Well, we'd better get going. Nice to meet you, boys. We'll see you again soon."

"Bye, Mr. Tracy." "See you tomorrow, Pinky!" "Nice to have met you all!" "See you for breakfast, Fermat!"

The boys walked away, already talking among themselves. Alan watched them go, feeling like an outsider for the first time that year. Jeff beckoned to the group, and they began to discuss who would be riding with whom.

xxxx

The restaurant was nice, perhaps not as posh as Lady Penelope was used to, but the best that Pittsfield had to offer. The food was acceptable, the wine and spirits better, the music and furnishings conducive to lingering and chatting rather than eating and leaving. Still, the party was quiet; the adults having something to talk about that would be easier if the children weren't there, and the kids wanting some time to discuss things that the grown-ups didn't necessarily need to hear.

At last, Tin-Tin excused herself. "I'd like to see the fountain in the lobby, if you don't mind?" she said as she carefully laid her linen napkin by her plate.

"Go ahead, Tin-Tin," Jeff said, smiling and nodding.

"I'd l-like to g-go, too, if it's o-okay with you, Dad," Fermat said, turning to his father.

"G-Go, but d-don't leave the r-restaurant," Brains admonished.

The pair rose and walked off, already beginning to converse in low tones. Brains watched his son leave, a concerned frown on his face.

"Dad? I, uh, need to use the restroom," A.J. said, his face looking distressed.

"Okay, son," Art replied. He glanced up at Alan, and smiled. "Alan? Could you take him, please?"

A.J. began to look stubborn. "Dad, I..."

"I'll go with him, Mr. Trumbull," Alan cut in. "I need to go anyway." He rose from his chair and motioned A.J. to join him. The younger boy did so, scowling as he went.

"I'm not five years old anymore," he grumbled. "I don't need an escort."

"I know that, A.J.," Alan said, "but remember how my dad commented on wanting to talk to yours?"

"Yeah, I do." A.J. pushed open the door to the men's room. There was a small sitting area outside the actual lavatory, but he passed through and headed straight for the stalls, closing the door behind him.

"I think he wanted to talk without us being there," Alan said as he stood before the gleaming white urinal and began to unzip his fly.

"Really?" Andrew's voice sounded muffled, and a bit strained. "Why?"

"I'm not really sure," was the reply.

There was a moment of silence, broken by an occasional grunt, then A.J. sighed. "Dad's here to take me out of school. Says he found a school in Geneva."

Alan finished what he was doing and zipped up. He walked over to the marble sinks. Waving a hand under the soap dispenser got him a palm full of fragrant white foam. Moving his other hand beneath the spigot started the water, and he began to wash. "What kind of school is it? Would you board or be a day student?"

"He's been talking as if it's a boarding school." The toilet flushed, and a moment later, A.J. appeared, still fastening his belt. As he began to wash up, he sighed again. "I'd be starting over."

"It might not be so bad," Alan said, raising his voice to be heard over the air dryer.

"But... why can't I stay here?" The younger boy started the second dryer. "I probably wouldn't see my dad any more than I do now; he'd still be too busy for me." He shook his head. "It's not fair! He hasn't even asked me what I want!"

A.J. sounded on the verge of tears, and Alan put an arm around his shoulders. "I know you want to stay and all, but it may be better this way. You would be closer to him, especially since he seems to spend so much time over there. You probably _would_ see him more often."

"I wish my dad were like yours," A.J. said, wiping a sleeve across his eyes. "He pays attention to what you say."

It was Alan's turn to sigh. "Not always. Besides, you're a lot younger than me. It's easier for a parent – any parent – to think of someone your age as a kid. Hey, in a lot of ways, my dad still sees _me_ as a kid, and it's... okay. Because when you come down to it, I am one. And you are, too." He smiled at the younger boy. "Things will work out, A.J. Whether you like it or not, your dad's doing what he thinks is best. Try to remember that, okay?"

A.J. sniffed, then sniffed again. "I'll... try." He ducked back into the stall and came out with a length of toilet paper. "I'd better blow my nose."

"I can wait." Alan sat in one of the seats outside the lavatory, as A.J. did what he needed to. The younger boy disposed of his makeshift handkerchief, then he pulled open the door, and the two boys left. As they approached the dining area, Alan glanced over to where the knot of adults were talking, then nudged A.J. "Let's go find Fermat and Tin-Tin. I think someone's using their own brand of 'Tracy charm' on your dad."

xxxx

Jeff took a sip of his whiskey, watching as Alan herded A.J. off to the men's room. There was a silence between the adults as the boys left, then Jeff put down his glass and asked, "So, Art. Have you found that school yet?"

Art snorted a brief laugh. "Always to the point, aren't you, Jeff. Yes, I think I have. Haven't been out to see the place yet, but it comes highly recommended." He took a sip of his martini, then placed the glass on the table and turned it around by the rim. "They said they had an opening; I still hope they have it when Andrew and I go to Switzerland next week."

"Lake Geneva is a beautiful place," Penelope said before sipping her Pernod. "I haven't been there in years."

"I've only seen it from afar, your ladyship," Art replied. "My business has always kept me hopping when I'm over there. No time for sightseeing."

"Please, call me Penelope," she replied with a smile. "Formality ill becomes equals, in business and in pleasure. Especially in our _particular_ business."

Her stress on the word "particular" made Art frown, so Jeff jumped in. "Penny, like you, is a member of the _family_ business. She holds a position similar to your own, but with a different specialty."

Art's eyes opened wide, and he smiled suddenly. "Of course! The pink lady! I've heard of you. Very nice to make your acquaintance."

"And I yours," Penelope replied. "It would have been lovely if we had time on this little jaunt to become more fully acquainted, but sadly, my visit is nearly at an end. I was merely to deliver Tin-Tin to Jeff for her transport home." She smiled. "Seeing Fermat compete was an added pleasure."

"Home?" Art asked, curious. "Back to the island?"

"Yes." Jeff sipped his whiskey again before continuing. "Tin-Tin was attending a boarding school in England when something happened. It involved a peer's daughter, and though Tin-Tin was the one provoked, she was also the one asked to leave."

"Well, that's unfair of them," Art commented.

"V-Very unfair," Brains said firmly, taking a sip of his wine. "But p-perhaps it's best for her. Sh-She was doing well at h-home."

"And she was having difficulty adjusting to the new culture in which she found herself," Penny added. "It was difficult for her to be so far from home and thrust in with girls who already knew how to... 'blend in' would be an appropriate term."

"Hmm." Art sipped his martini, giving Lady Penelope, then Jeff, a thoughtful look. He put the glass down again and laced his fingers, propping his forearms on the edge of the table. "Are you double-teaming me here?"

"I beg your pardon?" Penelope asked, sitting straighter in her chair.

"I know Andrew wants to stay at Wharton," Art explained. "And I'm sure that Fermat and Alan would like to see him stay. I assumed – perhaps hastily – that was what Jeff wanted to talk to me about: leaving Andrew where he was." He glanced at each of the adults at the table. "Am I wrong?"

"Not quite in my case," Jeff admitted. "I did want to talk to you about Andrew. I wanted to find out what your plans were and if I could somehow persuade you – not so much to leave him at Wharton – but to perhaps settle down in one spot so you could be more available to him." He shrugged. "If moving him to Geneva will accomplish that, then more power to you."

"T-Tell me, Art, wh-what kind of sch-sch-sch... academy is this n-new place?" Brains asked. "D-Does the faculty sp-speak English? A-Are there lots of A-American students? W-Will he board or l-live with you?"

"Well," Trumbull drawled, "the faculty is multi-lingual, as much of the area is. English, French, German, Italian and even Spanish are the spoken languages. I suppose that English isn't a first language for some of the faculty, but according to the materials they sent, the teachers are fluent in it." He stopped to think for a moment. "There are American students, most of them the sons of diplomats who serve in Geneva. And," here he sighed, "it _is_ a boarding school. No day students allowed." He held up his hands in a gesture of capitulation. "At least I can take him off campus on weekends, have him stay with me then."

"Art, you do a lot of traveling," Jeff said. "What happens when you're away from Geneva?"

"The same thing that happens when he's here and I'm there; he stays at school," was the answer.

There was a pause and Penny exchanged a long look with Jeff. "I think that what Jeff is trying to say is: what if something untoward should happen while you are away from Geneva."

Art was getting irritated. "The same thing that happens here. He's taken to the local hospital and they call me. I come."

Brains was now up to speed. "Ah, y-yes. So the school arranges f-for Andrew t-to be t-taken to the l-local Sw-Swiss hospital..."

"Where they may not speak English," Jeff said, finishing his engineer's sentence.

Trumbull blinked, and sat up slowly, a frown born of sudden, unwanted enlightenment on his face. "I-I never thought of that." His look toward Jeff had an air of pleading in it. "Surely some of the staff would speak English..."

"B-But would they u-understand Andrew?" Brains said, pressing the point. "B-Basically, when you tr-travel, you're l-leaving him alone... in a str-str-strange country."

Art had no answer, just a sudden slumping deflation of his shoulders. Penny took pity on him, and decided to try another tack. "Mr. Trumbull..."

"Please, call me Art."

"Hm. That is perhaps a bit too colloquial for me. Is your name Arthur?" When Trumbull nodded, she smiled. "I shall call you that, then. It is a kingly name." At his half-smile she continued. "Arthur, where do you consider your home to be? Switzerland or the United States?"

"The States, of course." His answer was quick and sure. "Our place in Connecticut."

"And where does Andrew call home?"

Art looked down. He took in a deep breath and let it out in an equally deep sigh. "Connecticut. That's home to him."

"Then, Arthur, shouldn't he at least be _near_ home, if he cannot be _at_ home?"

"More importantly," Jeff quietly added, "shouldn't _you_ be near home, if you can't be at home?" When there was no response, he went on. "Art, your firm is big enough, and you have enough clout to stay here in the States, maybe commute to Washington or New York and see Andrew on the weekends, like you plan to do in Geneva. But if he stays here, he'd be in a culture and a language he understands, and if something happens, you can be at his side quickly." Jeff smiled. "You could head over to Geneva during the summer break, and take him with you. That way you're still keeping your contacts open there." He finished off his whiskey. "I'm not saying you have to keep him at Wharton; if you're uncomfortable with it – and I can see that you might be - find another school, perhaps even closer to home. But... he's so young, and needs his dad as close to twenty-four seven as he can get."

Art looked at Brains, raising an eyebrow. "Your boy isn't much older than mine," he challenged. "How can you justify leaving him at a school so far from home?"

Brains rubbed the back of his head, and looked rueful. "G-Good question. I gu-guess it's b-because he's so br-br-br... intelligent, my o-only alternative is to t-t-t... educate him m-myself. And I c-can't do that and w-work." He smiled. "B-Besides, he's n-not alone. He has A-Alan... and vice-v-v-versa." He played with the stem of his empty wine glass. "Still, it's n-n-n... never easy."

"My observation has been, with regards to Tin-Tin, that she was having trouble with the culture of the school she was attending, and integrating herself into it," Penny said. "Even though I was available as an 'honorary aunt', so to speak, she was far more used to having her time as her own, and being accepted as an equal among peers." She shook her head. "Had I known that the students of the school would be such little bi... well, I shan't be coarse. Had I known this, I would have suggested a less prestigious school, or perhaps that Tin-Tin could live with me and go to state school in the village... though I understand that even there she would have had difficulty fitting in."

"That's very likely, Penny," Jeff said, regret coloring his tone. "I've suggested that perhaps she should go to school somewhere near the boys, but then she won't even have an honorary aunt to lean on. She'll probably be better off at home, and returning to her satellite studies."

There was another quiet interlude, and Art looked at each of the people facing him. Then he cleared his throat. "I... appreciate what you've said to me this evening. You've brought up some salient points for me to consider." He paused, and drained the last drop of liquor from his martini glass. "I love Geneva and what I do there, but I eat, breathe and sleep it. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have much more time for Andrew than I do now. I'll think about what you've all said, and for the time being, leave Andrew at Wharton." He shifted his position and pulled down on his waistcoat. "However, I think I _will_ take him home for a day or so and spend some father-son time with him. He needs it; we both do."

"Good," Jeff said, nodding in satisfaction. He glanced at his watch. "Now, where did those kids get to?"

xxxx

"It's g-good to see you, T-Tin-Tin," Fermat said as they left the dining room for the restaurant's spacious lobby. "We h-haven't had time to t-t-t... speak with each o-other though."

"That's why I wanted to go to the fountain. I'd hoped you and Alan would take the hint and follow me," Tin-Tin said. She glanced back to see Alan and A.J. emerge from the dining room, and paused, one hand on Fermat's casted arm to stop him. But the other two walked off in the opposite direction, toward the lavatories, and she sighed, then turned to Fermat. "How's the arm?"

"It's o-okay," he said. "Itches like h-h-h... c-crazy."

Tin-Tin smiled. "I was afraid that you'd cracked open your head falling from the bunk. How'd you manage just the arm?"

"Some of Sc-Scott's tr-tr-tr... lessons on falling m-must have p-penetrated my sub-c-conscious," he replied.

"That makes sense, I guess."

They came to the fountain, a moderately-sized marble construction with edges wide enough to sit on, a classic Greek damsel pouring water from a marble pitcher into a round tray, and a number of coins in the smooth lower basin. They sat on the side that faced away from the double doors. The maître d' saw them come in, recognized them as part of the Tracy party, and smiled at them. "If you need anything, let me know," she said.

"Thank you," Tin-Tin replied for them both.

"S-So," Fermat began, settling his cast in a comfortable position. "How come you're g-going home?"

She bit her lower lip and was quiet for what seemed like a long time. "It... it's hard to talk about," she finally murmured. "There was this girl; she's the daughter of some Lord or other. She took a dislike to me from the first day, it seems. Made fun of the way I talked, the way I walked, the way I dressed, my skin, my eyes... just everything!" She clenched her fists on her lap as she talked. "I tried to avoid her as much as I could, but she had lots of friends and if she wasn't putting me down, they were. None of them even tried to get to know me."

"I-I'm s-sorry, T-Tin-Tin," Fermat said quietly, putting a hand on her arm.

"Thanks, Fermat," she replied, giving him a wan smile.

"So, wh-what happened?"

She sighed. "I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Fermat frowned. To him, this was something new. Tin-Tin was usually far more open with him, and with Alan, than she was being now. He decided to say so. "Tin-Tin, this isn't l-like you. You u-usually tell me... st-stuff."

"Well, I don't want to tell you this."

"Why n-not?" His sharp question made her turn to him in shock. "We're fr-friends, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"Then why w-won't you t-tell me?"

Her shoulders slumped and she turned her body away. "B-Because you might not want to be my friend anymore."

He hadn't taken his hand from her arm, and now he gave it a little squeeze. "N-Not g-gonna happen, not ever."

"Even if...?" Her voice sounded as if she were about to cry.

"Even if wh-what?" he prodded gently.

She turned back to him, tears beginning to run down her face. "Even if I'm becoming just like my uncle?"

_

* * *

What does Tin-Tin mean? How will the track team do? What will the older boys say about Fermat's performance? Are things really getting back to normal? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	54. Undertones

_Author's note: _ Short chapter this time. Tin-Tin's confession. A.J.'s fate decided. The return to campus and farewells. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and to you, my readers, for your patience. This was tougher than anticipated.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

Fermat frowned. "Wh-What do you mean, T-Tin-Tin? Why d-do you think you'll b-b-b... end up like your u-uncle?"

She swallowed heavily, and wouldn't look at him, keeping her eyes closed. "I... Do you know why I'm being sent home?"

"N-Not really," Fermat admitted. "Mr. T-Tracy wouldn't tell us why. Just that you w-were going h-home."

Tin-Tin took a deep breath. "What happened was this: that girl I was talking about, well, I had enough of her. So, I started doing little things. Tripping her, upsetting her tray by pushing it with my... my powers, moving her things around so she couldn't find them right away. It felt... good. Sneaky good. There was a little thrill to doing things that she couldn't pin on me, things that frustrated her. I was getting back at her, and she didn't even know it."

"So, wh-what happened? H-How'd she f-find out?" At Tin-Tin's surprised look, he clarified his statement. "I'm m-making an assumption h-here. If she didn't know, you w-wouldn't have been 'sent' h-home, now, would you?"

Tin-Tin sighed and her shoulders slumped. "You're right. I don't know if she figured it out or if she was just suspicious. But she tripped, with a plate full of food, and fell hard. She came up to me and called me some names, then slapped me." She shook her head. "I couldn't let that pass; I had to do something! So, I smacked her back." Huffing a little rueful laugh, she added, "Y'know what the ironic thing is?"

"No. What?"

"I didn't even touch her. Didn't use my powers. She tripped over her own two big feet."

Fermat closed his eyes and groaned a little in commiseration. He slipped his casted hand beneath hers, and rubbed her back lightly with his free one. "I'm s-sorry this happened. B-But how does this m-make you like your u-u-u... like him?"

She sighed again. "Don't you see? This is how he probably started out... doing little things to the people around him. Liking it when they couldn't figure out what was happening, feeling that little shiver of... of... satisfaction when he used his powers. Getting back at the people he thought wronged him." She leaned toward him, putting her head awkwardly on his much lower shoulder. "I don't want to be like him."

"A-And you won't b-be," Fermat said stoutly.

Tin-Tin lifted her head and looked him in the eye. "How can you say that?"

"B-Because it's true," he said firmly. "From wh-what I've seen of your u-uncle, he'd never have b-beaten himself up about using his p-p-powers. He'd just enjoy it and n-not question it or feel b-bad." He gave her a smile. "It's b-because you d-do feel b-bad about it that tells me you w-won't end up like him."

She lay her head back on his shoulder. "I wish I could believe that."

"B-Believe it. You'd n-never become what he is."

They sat quietly like that for a while, Fermat's good arm around her shoulders and her head resting on his. The maitre d' smiled warmly as she glanced up from the desk behind them. Finally, Tin-Tin broke the silence again. "I'm glad to be going home. I miss my parents, and..." Her voice trailed off.

"And?"

"I'll be far away from him," was her surprising reply. "I could hear him sometimes, in my mind, like he was whispering. Not to me, but just... thinking. Planning. I was afraid he'd know I was in England and he would start using his powers against me."

Fermat frowned, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of Alan and A.J. The latter boy's eyes widened when he saw his roommate nearly embracing a pretty girl, and Alan felt a twinge of something he couldn't quite place. _I'm not jealous,_ he assured himself, but still, there was a little corner of his mind that disagreed. For their part, Fermat and Tin-Tin suddenly sat up straight when their quiet chat was interrupted.

"Hey, guys," Alan said. "What's up?"

"N-Nothing, much. We're j-just talking," Fermat said.

"Yeah, well, it looks like Dad's doing a lot of talking, too. Might be trying to convince Mr. Trumbull to let A.J. stay."

A.J. shook his head and shrugged. "I doubt it. Your dad has a lot more important things to worry about than some kid he doesn't even know."

"Well, we'll see what happens when we get back there." Alan rubbed his hands together. "Personally, I'm ready for dessert!"

xxxx

"Well, boys, I think it's time to head out," Jeff said when dessert had been served and consumed. "Fermat, you're coming with us to the hotel for the evening. You can go back with Alan in the morning."

"Andrew?" Arthur turned to his son. "How about you come home with me for the weekend? We can spend some time together..." His voice was hopeful, but his face was serious, with just a hint of trepidation, as if he wasn't sure how his son would react.

A.J. looked at his father with a combination of disbelief and suspicion. "Home?" He frowned. "To Geneva?"

Art sighed, and sat back, deflated. "No, son. Home to Connecticut."

A.J. turned this over in his mind for a minute or two. "I suppose," he said slowly. "When will I have the chance to pack up my things? For our trip to Geneva next week?"

"We're... not going to Geneva," Art replied. "I'm still not sure if I want to leave you at Wharton, but until I find something closer to home... you'll stay put."

"That's... that's great, Dad." A.J. didn't sound enthusiastic, and looked more stunned than happy. Art frowned a little, a hurt expression.

There was an awkward period of silence, broken by Alan. "Hey, sport," he said, grinning. "Go home and have a good time. Looks like we'll _all_ be back to the grind come Monday." He reached out to give A.J. a friendly clout on the shoulder.

A.J. chuckled, then glanced over at his father. The two gazed at each other for a long moment, then A.J. gave a small smile and said, "I think I will."

"Well, let's get these boys – and ladies – back to the hotel," Jeff said. "Art, you need a lift?"

Art was already on the phone. "Thanks, but no, Jeff. My chauffeur will pick us up. I wasn't planning on staying the night, so we can head straight home from here. Andrew's already checked out for the week, but I hadn't yet terminated his enrollment. Looks like I won't have to for a while longer."

"I don't have any clothes with me..." A.J. protested.

"Don't you have clothes at home?"

A.J. thought for a minute, then shook his head in exasperation. "Yes, of course I do. Duh."

The group at the table laughed, and Jeff rose, offering his hand to Penelope. "Well, then, we'll be off. Art, Andrew, it was nice to see you again. I'm sure we'll be in touch again, soon."

Brains also rose, and stopped by to murmur in Art's ear as he passed by the lawyer. "I p-pointed Dr. S-Sugimoto in your direction, but if y-you need to talk to s-someone at H-H-H... the island, ask for m-me. J-Jeff doesn't w-want to b-be involved in this situation." He glanced over at Alan. Art followed his gaze, and nodded.

"No problem, Hiram. I can keep Jeff out of the loop."

Brains patted Art on the shoulder, then drew Fermat from his goodbyes to A.J. and the Tracy party left the restaurant.

xxxx

"Alan!" Dom grinned as he saw his roommate walk in. "Good to see you, man! Here, let me help with the bags." He strode over to the door and took the overnight case from Fermat. "Hi, Fermat! You rocked last night!"

"Th-Thanks, Dom," Fermat said, blushing. "Wish I hadn't b-blundered with that lit qu-question."

"Don't sweat it; everyone misses once in a while," Dom said with a shrug. He turned toward his roommate. "Hey, Alan, is your dad still around?"

Alan turned from where he was unpacking his laptop, a slightly confused look on his face. "No, he's gone. Dropped us off at the dorms and headed straight for the airport."

The farewells had been quick and surprisingly awkward. The boys had said their goodbyes to Lady Penelope and Parker at the hotel. She'd kissed them both in a motherly fashion and admonished them, "Now, be careful, boys. I don't want to hear about any more incidents until Christmas."

"O-Okay, Lady P-Penelope," Fermat said, a mischievous tone in his voice. "You won't h-hear about them. D-Doesn't mean there won't _b-be_ any."

Penelope raised an aristocratic eyebrow. "You, sir, are getting far too bold." She chuckled, and passed a hand through his hair, then sobered. "Please be careful, both of you. Your fathers do not need the stress."

"They'll be careful," Jeff said firmly. "Or they'll be hearing from _me_."

"A-And me," Brains added.

"We'll be careful, Lady P.," Alan assured her solemnly. "Promise."

"A promise from you, Alan, allows me to leave with a light heart," Penelope said, her dazzling smile back in place. Alan quietly caught his breath; for once, she was smiling for him and no one else.

But the moment passed as Jeff stepped forward to escort Penny to her car and hand her in. Alan found something else to look at as his father kissed her in farewell and she returned the favor. He heard the door close, then Parker gave a final gruff goodbye before ducking inside FAB-1, and the long car pulled away smoothly. Alan knew that Parker would find some quiet road to use as a runway; small, regional airports usually didn't know what to do with a pink car that could fly. Neither did busy city airports, for that matter.

"Now, boys," Jeff said, rubbing his hands as he came back to the three who were waiting. "Let's get you back to Wharton."

The drive back had been quiet. The hotel had cleaned all of Alan's clothes, barring what he'd worn to bed and what he had chosen for the morning. They'd driven onto the campus and made their way to Maplewood first of all, so that Fermat could bring what little he had with him to the dorm. Jeff and Alan waited down in the lobby, not wanting to interrupt the moment between Brains and Fermat. They didn't wait long; Alan had the suspicion that Fermat had just thrown his overnight bag into the room and hurried back down.

They drove down to Oakwood, mostly to spare Alan the gawking stares of the students who were out and about that morning. There were a few cars on the drive with trunks open; busy parents who had finally arrived to remove their sons from Wharton. _We're doing things backwards,_ Alan thought. _I'm coming back... and I should have been the one most likely to go. I would have been if not for my dad._

"Let me help carry that in," Jeff said as Alan shouldered the laptop case.

"Nah, I got it, Dad," Alan replied. Before Jeff could reach for the overnight case, Fermat had grabbed it and swung it over his good shoulder.

"Well, then, let me walk you inside," Jeff said.

Alan smiled, and shook his head. "I'm okay, Dad. Really. It's easier to say goodbye here."

Jeff had a puzzled look on his face, as if he didn't understand what Alan meant. He sighed, and said, "If that's the way you want it..." When Alan nodded, Jeff held open his arms.

Alan hesitated for a moment, then stepped into his father's embrace. He patted Jeff on the back with his free hand, not wanting to look too dependent, not wanting to hold on too hard ... fearing that if he did, he wouldn't want to let go. For his part, Jeff held on gingerly, gently, mindful of his son's injuries and not knowing if this hesitation on Alan's part was born of embarrassment, a desire to squelch the rumors that were likely still hiding in odd corners, an increased sense of self-reliance, or any combination of those factors.

"I love you, son," he murmured in Alan's ear.

"Love you, too, Dad," Alan replied softly.

Brains found himself looking at his son through a slightly different filter. Fermat seemed stronger now, more confident, and far older than his father ever thought possible. _Only a couple of weeks, and it feels like a lifetime has passed._

Fermat pushed his glasses back on his nose, and moved in with his good arm for a sideways hug, neither remembering nor caring about the overnight case that bumped between him and his father. Brains gathered him in with one arm, squeezing tightly, but stopped himself before dropping a kiss on his son's head. _It's not appropriate, not here, not now. Maybe not ever again,_ he silently lamented.

"Love you, D-Dad," Fermat said, smiling. It had been good to see his dad, good to have him watch the competition, even though the thought of his mistake still made his cheeks flame. But he was ready to go back to the routine, back to classes, and back to his friends.

"L-Love you, t-t-t-t-too, son," Brains replied. "I'll m-miss you."

"Can you c-come out for another c-competition?"

Brains couldn't help himself, he just had to ruffle Fermat's hair. "I'll t-try. M-Maybe when A-Alan's able to c-c-c... participate in t-track."

"You've got a d-deal!"

Jeff stepped over to ruffle Fermat's hair even more. "You keep an eye on him for me, Fermat. Make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble," he said, grinning.

"S-Sure thing, Mr. Tracy." Fermat stepped up to the curb to join Alan.

"A-Alan!"

Alan turned back, one foot on the dorm steps. Brains was rubbing the back of his neck and motioned with his head toward Fermat. "W-W-Watch him."

"Count on it, Brains." Alan smiled, then turned toward the dorm again, giving Fermat a little tap on the arm.

The fathers called out, "Bye, boys!" "T-Talk to you soon!" and the boys looked over their shoulders to wave."S-See you later!" "Bye, Dad!" Then the dormitory swallowed them up, leaving Brains and Jeff on the drive, feeling suddenly proud... and bereft.

"Why'd you want to see my dad?" Alan asked Dom as he finished plugging in his laptop.

"Pictures, man, pictures! Of last night's victory! I didn't even _think_ to bring a camera, and no one from the newspaper was there, though Kay told me he'd written something to give the editor." Dom seemed to quiver with nervous energy.

"You want pictures for the school paper?" Alan sounded puzzled, and looked it, too.

"No, no, no." Dom shook his curls vigorously and hooked a thumb at his own shoulder. "Yearbook editor, remember? Last year we had nothing on the quiz team but a group photo." He spread his hand and passed it through the air in an arc, palm facing out, watching the movement for a moment before turning his gaze back to Alan. "I can see more coverage, more pictures. And it'd be a big help if I could get some stills from the vid your dad took."

"Oh!" Alan's face lit up with comprehension. "I get it now. Sure! I'll email him and ask. He can upload the vid to me; then I can copy it for you so you can screencap. Does that work?"

"Yeah!" Dom said eagerly. "Make sure your dad knows I'll give him credit for the pics, too."

Alan and Fermat both laughed. "My dad's second... no, third... aw, hell, I've lost count of how many careers he's had!"

"His _latest_ c-career," Fermat suggested.

"Yeah, that works. Thanks, Brain," Alan said. He made a sweeping motion much like Dom's. "Jeff Tracy's latest career: yearbook photographer. News at eleven."

The three boys burst into laughter. When they'd calmed down, Alan glanced at his computer clock. "Time for lunch."

"Then the t-track meet," Fermat reminded him.

"Yeah! And for this one, I'll make sure I have my camera!" Dom vowed.

Alan rose. "Then let's get going. It looks like a _fine_ day ahead of us."

_Are things **really** getting back to normal? When will Alan be allowed to compete? What more is in store for the Tracys and company? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	55. Unwinding

_Author's note: _Things begin to return to normal. Alan gets a surprise visit and Jeff gets a surprise phone call. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and to her and Lillehafrue for being sounding boards.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Zave, will you quit griping?" Qaeshon said irritably. "It was a good match." 

"But we lost," replied a gloomy Xavion. He dropped his fork onto his dinner tray, pushed it away, then let his forehead slowly meet the table.

"You expected to _win_?" Jason asked, incredulous. He crumpled up his napkin and threw it on his tray. "For pity's sake, man, you were down _how_ many players?"

"Five, including Pinky here." Zave looked up and made a motion toward Alan. He shook his head. "Soccer team was down as many and they _won_."

"Yeah, by one point. Big whoop. You don't need a specialist in every position in soccer," Jason grumbled. "And those guys came back wiped. They all had to play longer and that's why the other team nearly tied them. Randy said that if they'd tied and gone to overtime, they would have lost. It was a defensive game all the way."

Fermat sat back, grinning as he listened to his friends bicker. It felt good to be back on campus and eating dinner with his friends. The tension that had colored the past few weeks was gone. _Once A.J. gets back, then things will be the way they should be and our only worries will be the normal ones._

Alan was also enjoying the more relaxed atmosphere. For once, he was willing to let his friends do the talking and sit back to listen. He glanced down at his unfinished slice of pizza and sighed. After all the fine restaurant food he and his father had enjoyed during the past week, pizza from the popular local shop was rather disappointing.

Kay glanced over at Dom, who had joined them. "Hey, Dom. Did you get some good pictures?"

"I think so," Dom replied, nodding. He took a sip of his fruit punch and added, "I'm looking forward to screen caps from the vid Mr. Tracy took last night." He shook his head. "We need to get the team pictures scheduled, soon. I'm kinda glad we hadn't already done them; they'll be a better representation of who's really on the teams now that all this steroid business is through."

"Anyone heard anything more about Sugi and company?" Jason asked.

The boys' faces turned expectantly toward Alan, who shook his head. "I don't know anything, really, except they're still in jail. The other guy they beat on... what they did to him and why is the reason they're not out on bail or anything. Besides, I hear that Mickey and Pierce plead guilty to have their sentences cut back. That audio recording will make the district attorney's job easier."

"That's Mickey and Pierce," Zave said, leaning his chair back on two legs. "What about Lee and Steve?"

"And Ralph?" Jason asked in a quiet voice.

Alan shrugged. "I dunno. Both Steve and Sugi are old enough to be tried as adults, but from what I heard, Ralph isn't."

"I remember hearing he was cooperating with the police," Kay said. "And he really wasn't involved in the actual beatings." He stopped, a concerned expression flitting over his face. "At least, I don't think he was."

"Nah," Jason said, waving a hand. "He couldn't have been."

"Did the p-police t-talk to you about him? About wh-where he was the n-night of the third i-i-i... e-e-e... occurrence?" Fermat asked.

Jason frowned. "No, they didn't." He glanced down at the table, his eyes losing their focus as he tried to remember. Then his face cleared and he looked up. "I do know that he was watching baseball that night. There are probably other guys who were watching with him in the lounge."

"I hope so, and I hope the game was on when that... that guy got beat up." Kay said. He glanced at Zave and Alan; even though they knew who had been beaten, it was still not common knowledge. The papers couldn't report Erik's name because he was a minor, and if Erik was coming back to Wharton as he'd said, it was better that the whole school did not know of his sexual preference. _Though I'm sure some people have probably already made the connection._

"Ralph's parents came the other day to pick up his things," Jason explained. "Boy, I felt sorry for them. Mrs. Santiago looked like she was taking this really hard."

"Wonder what Steve and Sugi's parents think," Zave said.

"Sugi said Steve's parents threw him out," Alan said softly, remembering the angry, vicious accusations flung at him. "And Mr. Sugimoto was really worried when Lee took off. He thought maybe he'd been kidnapped or something... at first."

The others exchanged troubled glances, and Fermat put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "Y-You all right, A-Alan?"

Alan started, as if waking from a dream, and gave his friend a soft smile. "Yeah. I'm okay... or I will be, soon." He straightened and prepared to pick up his tray. "I'm finished eating. Anyone else?"

"Yeah, I'm done." "I'm full." "I'm r-ready to go." "Just waiting on you guys." "Let's get outta here."

The group headed for the tray drop off. Instead of Pierce, there was a bored-looking, gum-chewing teen aged girl taking their trays and plates. She had a nose ring sticking out of her left nostril and a Celtic weave tattoo encircled her upper right arm, clearly visible because of her rolled up sleeves. Alan couldn't tell what color her hair was since it was tucked under a protective hair cover, but it looked really dark, a stark contrast to her pale skin. It seemed that the other boys already knew who she was.

"Hey, Sable," Jason said as he came up to hand in his tray.

"Hey, Red," Sable replied through her gum-chewing. "How's it hanging?"

"Uh, great, Sable, just great," he replied, going pink at her question. He got out of the way as quickly as he could, a look of wide-eyed consternation on his face. Alan watched him go, as Kay took his place.

She had a greeting for each of the boys, and a name for them. Kay was "Dreads", Zave was "Rows", Dom was "Curly", and Fermat was "Specs". Then Alan's turn came.

Her eyes widened for a moment, and Alan could see they were heavily outlined in black eyeliner, and the irises were purple. _That's such a fake color; she must be wearing colored contacts._

"God, what the hell happened to your face, Blondie?" she asked as she held her gloved hands out for his tray.

"It met a tree. Repeatedly," he replied as he handed it over.

"Ah, then you must be that Tracy kid," she said. "My name's Sable, Sable de la Croix. Nice to meet you." She refrained from offering a handshake.

"You're right; I'm Tracy – Alan Tracy," Alan replied. "Nice to meet you, too."

"So, I'll see you around, Blondie," Sable said, indicating with a nod of her head the line forming behind him.

"Uh, right. Around." Alan snapped off a quick, two-fingered salute, and went off to catch up with his friends.

"Eww." Jason shuddered as they left the dining hall. "Every time she asks that question – just the way she puts it makes me want to squirm!"

"You think she wants to know how your... ahem... _package_ is hanging?" Dom said, chuckling and nudging Jason.

"Yes!" he shot back. "She is _so_ not my type!"

"What kind of name is Sable de la Croix anyway?" asked Alan. "Sounds like some romance novelist's pen name."

Kay laughed. "It does, doesn't it?"

Zave put his two cents in. "I have it on good authority that her real name's Amy-Sue Pederson."

"What g-good authority?" Fermat asked.

"A guy who goes here and whose sister went to school with her." Zave nodded firmly once, as if satisfied with his own explanation.

"And they hired her under the name 'Sable de la Croix'?" Alan asked, confused.

"Of course not!" Jason shook his head and rolled his eyes. "She just _calls_ herself that. I bet it says Amy-Sue Pederson on her application form."

"Oh."

Zave squinted at Alan, a mixture of incredulity and suspicion on his face. "Hey, wait a minute, Pinky. How would you know what a romance novelist's name sounds like?"

Alan sputtered. "Well... uh... Onaha... yeah! Onaha, our housekeeper - she's Tin-Tin's mom - she reads romance novels. Leaves them around... you know."

"She d-d-does n..." Alan nudged Fermat, hard, before he could finish his statement, then turned to the rest of the group.

"See, even Fermat says she does," he said smugly.

"Yeah, right," Zave replied with a smirk. "Tell us another one, Pinky."

The other boys snickered, but with that last comment from Xavion, the subject of Pierce's replacement was dropped, and the conversation moved to other things. Alan breathed deeply of the chilly air, stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket, then glanced up into the dark sky. The constellations, so familiar from his father's and brother's tutoring, shone down on him, obscured only now and again by a ghostly cloud. He breathed deeply again, and sighed, contented. He was home.

xxxx

"So, how's the sprout?" Scott asked as Jeff came out to the pool, dressed for swimming.

"He's..." Jeff paused, thinking about Alan and the whole mess he'd gotten involved in. _The police say they've got the gang. Alan says he can take care of himself. I hope they're both right._

"Dad?" Virgil now looked up expectantly, jolting Jeff from his thoughts. "Alan? How is he?"

Jeff smiled, and took off his bright Hawaiian shirt, draping it over a lounger. "He'll be fine," he said as he stepped down into the water. "I'll be keeping as much of an eye on him as I can, long distance."

"That vid of Fermat competing... man, was he awesome!" Scott leaned his elbows up against the pool's edge, holding himself in place with his lower body in the water.

"Yeah, but I cringed when he missed that lit question." Virgil turned the page of the magazine he was reading.

"So did he," Jeff said. He pushed off from the steps, swimming the length of the pool in a long, lazy crawl. When he returned to the shallower end, he ducked underwater and came up, scrubbing the water from his face, pushing his dark hair back. "I think he would have felt worse if they'd lost. He'd have blamed himself."

"Yeah, and with his dad there and everything." Scott turned around and hoisted himself from the water, heading for the diving board.

"Speaking of Brains," Virgil said. "When are he and Gordon due back from Five?"

"Not until this evening," Jeff told him. Behind him, Scott made a smooth dive into the pool. "There are some software and hardware upgrades that he wants to install. Once they're done, the wrist telecomm system will have better feed from Five, and the holographic background will be automatic."

"When do we get those?"

"Soon, very soon. Brains still has a lot on his plate, and the camera fogger upgrade is priority."

"I can help him with building the things, if that's what he needs." Virgil put down his magazine and took off his shirt.

"Check with him when he gets baaaaa... whoa!"

Jeff's arms flailed and windmilled just before he disappeared underwater, pulled from beneath by a playful Scott. Virgil dived in from the pool's side, and as all three men rose, Jeff sputtering, he helped his father dunk his older brother under the surface.

Through the thick glass that separated the pool area from the house, Tin-Tin gazed out at the three men at play in the pool. Onaha came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Tin-Tin shrugged. "I guess so," she murmured. "I missed you, and Father, and the island." She turned, smiling at her mother, leaning in firmly to an offered embrace. "It's good to be home."

xxxx

Sunday at Wharton was dreary and wet; the ghostly clouds of the previous night had gathered in force to send rain pelting down. Wind lashed rain against the windows, and coupled with the chilly temperatures, it was a fine day to stay inside. Which is exactly what Alan did. Fermat braved the raw morning, pelting up the walkway from dining hall and infirmary as if trying to dodge the drops, ending up on Alan's doorstep soaked and chilled. They turned the heat up a bit, then sat down to do some serious studying. Alan's week away had put him behind, despite the homework assignments that had been emailed to him, and his math in particular had suffered.

Finally, Alan rose and stretched. "I need a break." He glanced at his watch. "Too early back home."

"F-For what?" Fermat said, reaching a hand up. Alan obliged, grabbing the hand and helping Fermat to his feet.

"To call. Gordon should be home by now; John's week off is over."

"Ah, right." Fermat's fingers scratched idly at the area under his cast. Alan noticed, and motioned with a hand toward it.

"Itchy?"

Fermat sighed. "You don't know _h-how_ i-i-itchy. Wish I had one of th-those Chinese b-back scratchers. M-Maybe that could get in and do a p-proper job."

Alan huffed out a laugh, then went to the mini-fridge. "You want to go to lunch or stay here and snack all day?"

"I d-dunno. Wh-What's for lunch?"

Alan was about to answer when there was a chime from the door. "Can't be Dom; he said he wouldn't be back until after lunch." He moved to the door and pressed the button to open it. Fermat heard his voice turn low and shocked. "Dr. Sugimoto!"

Daniel Sugimoto gave Alan a half-smile. "Hello, Alan. I'm sorry to interrupt your day. May I come in?"

Alan's eyes flicked up to Dr. Sugimoto's escort: security officer David Culp. Mr. Culp nodded a little, as if to say, "He's safe."

"Come in, Dr. Sugimoto," Alan said, moving out of the way. Both men entered, and Alan offered his desk chair to the scientist, while he leaned up against the bed. Mr. Culp stood stolidly by the doorway.

"This is my friend, Fermat Hackenbacker." Alan indicated Fermat, who was sitting on Dom's bed.

"H-Hello, sir." Fermat stood and politely offered his hand to Dr. Sugimoto, who took it and shook it firmly.

"I've met your father, Fermat. He's been very helpful to me in a business matter." Daniel smiled a little, then paused, moistening his lips as he gathered his thoughts. "You're probably wondering why I'm here. I asked permission of the school to come and speak to you. They thought it prudent to send Mr. Culp along as my escort." He glanced up at the security man, then back to Alan. "I've come bringing a message." Again, he paused, then took a deep breath and let it out forcefully. "It's from my son, Lee. He would like to talk with you."

xxxx

The buzzer rang and rang and rang, and Jeff threw out a hand to shut off the alarm clock. He hit the offending appliance, but the buzzer went off once again. Finally, it hit him; someone was calling on his vidphone.

"Coming!" he half shouted, half croaked as he sat up in bed. A glance at the clock told him it was six in the morning. "Oh, God. Who's calling at this hour?" The phone rang again, loud and insistent, from the sitting room.

He stumbled out of bed and grabbed his favorite robe. "This had better be important," he muttered to himself as he shrugged into the threadbare garment. He shuffled out to his little lounge and pressed a button. A bleary-eyed Scott looked back at him through the screen.

"It's Alan."

The mention of his youngest son's name wakened Jeff fully, though it didn't improve his disposition. "What happened this time?"

Scott blinked, surprised at Jeff's assumption. "He's okay, Dad. He's okay. Really. He just has to talk to you. Says it's important."

Jeff sighed. "All right, Scott. Transfer it down here, please. I intend to go back to bed the minute we're through."

"Sure, Dad." The phone showed a "on hold" screen for a few seconds, then Alan's face, an apprehensive expression discernible even through bruising and bandages, appeared.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hello, Alan," Jeff said, glowering at his son. "Do you happen to know what time it is here?"

Alan sighed. "Yeah, it's six in the morning. But I couldn't wait any more. Fermat and I have been over and over this and I really need your advice."

"What's going on?" Jeff's irritation was clear in his voice.

His son licked his lips a little. "Well, Mr. Sugimoto came to see me..."

"He what?!" Now Jeff was awake and more than annoyed. "What business does he have visiting you? Do I have to get a restraining order to keep the man and his family away?"

"Dad, it's not like that," Alan said in an attempt to soothe his father. "One of the security men came with him so he couldn't do anything. Not that I think he would; he doesn't seem the type."

"You never know what a man's capable of when his back's against the wall, Alan," Jeff warned, shaking his head.

"I know, I know, but he only wanted to deliver a message." Alan's shoulders were moving in ways that made Jeff think he was wringing his hands. "He delivered it and left, basically. I... I couldn't give him an answer right away. I told him I had to talk with you first."

"And what was this very important question that you had to ask me first?" Jeff leaned his head on one hand, letting his elbow prop up both hand and cheek. "And why was it so important that you had to wake me up so early?"

Alan swallowed hard. "Lee wants to talk with me."

Jeff slowly sat up straight as the import of his son's words hit home. "Why?" was his only thought and question.

The boy shrugged. "Dunno. Mr. Sugimoto couldn't tell me."

"When would this proposed meeting take place, and where?"

"Where is at the county jail, I think. He didn't say that Lee had been released or anything. As to when... whenever I want, I suppose."

"This isn't something official, is it?" Jeff asked, his irritation at Alan falling away into concern. "Sugimoto's lawyers haven't contacted you or anything, have they?"

Alan shook his head emphatically. "No, nothing like that. Just... he wants to talk to me."

Jeff paused and gathered his thoughts. "You don't have to do this. In fact, you shouldn't do this. I don't want you to. Stay as far away from Lee Sugimoto – and his father – as possible. I'll be calling the school as soon as I can to protest this action on their part."

"Dad, please! Please don't get on Wharton's case about it. Dr. Sugimoto hasn't done anything to me; hell, I feel sorry for the guy!"

"Still, he's involved in a high profile legal case..."

"It's high profile because of me..."

The two Tracys stopped speaking and just gazed at each other for a moment. Then Jeff went on, his voice quieter, though just as impassioned and firm. "Alan, it's not _only_ you. These boys beat up on someone because of their sexual orientation. That's a hate crime, and that's what makes it high profile." He raised an eyebrow, making his gaze into a pointed one. "Do you understand?"

Alan sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped. He nodded. "Yeah. I understand. I'd just..." His voice trailed off.

"Just what, Alan?"

Jeff got a sad smile from his son. "I'd just like to know why. Why me? What did I do to make him hate me so much?"

Alan was surprised to see his father's face turn sympathetic. " 'Why?' is a question you may never get an answer to, Alan. It's a question I asked myself for years after your mother's death, and still ask now and again." Jeff shrugged. "I never have gotten an answer, but maybe someday I will." His face took on a more serious mien. "But back to the matter at hand. Alan, speaking with Lee might impair the case that the state is making against him. He seems to be a terrific manipulator of people; I doubt your schoolmates would have believed the rumor he started if he wasn't. Please, if for no other reason than that one, don't talk to him."

Nodding slowly, Alan gave his father's words due consideration. "Okay, Dad. I won't. But what if his lawyer wants to talk to me?"

"That's a different matter entirely," Jeff said. "However, I want you to have your own legal representative there should it happen." He turned to look at the clock. "Hm, okay." Bringing his attention back to the phone, he said, "Nothing is going to happen with this until tomorrow, your time. I'll give Art's firm a call, and have someone from there available to you whenever you need them. But you're not to speak to anyone on a legal basis until our lawyers are at your side. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dad. I do." Alan's brisk reply made Jeff smile.

"Now, unless you have something other to discuss..." Jeff's statement was punctuated by a loud yawn.

"I get the message, Dad," Alan said. "I'm sorry for calling so early there, but I was going around in circles, trying to decide what to do." He smiled apologetically. "I did wait until six instead of calling at four."

"I guess I should appreciate the small favors, huh?" Jeff said, his tone wry. "I'll talk to you later, Alan."

"Right, Dad. Get some sleep."

Jeff smiled, a hint of pride and a lot of love clearly seen in it. "I love you, Alan."

Alan nodded. "Love you, too, Dad. G'night."

The call ended and Alan sat back. He glanced over at Dom, who was sitting at his own desk, going through the video that Jeff had sent, trying to get some good screen caps. "Well, I've made my decision. I'm not going to see Sugi."

"Good call," Dom replied, his eyes still on the screen. "I don't want to see him or any of his little pals, though I'm pretty sure I'll have to, depending on what happens with a trial and all."

"Yeah." Alan put away his phone. "I suppose I will have to eventually, but not at his beck and call."

Back on the island, Jeff rubbed his eyes and yawned again. He glanced over at the clock, and sighed. _There's one legal matter I can get Art's firm started on first thing tomorrow: a restraining order against Dr. Sugimoto and his son. No way am I allowing either of them access to Alan again._

_

* * *

When will Alan be allowed to compete? Will there be a trial? When will A.J. get back? What more is in store for the Tracys and company? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	56. Unassailable Logic

_Author's note: _A new week begins. A.J. gets some good news. Jeff gets some bad news. Alan gets an unexpected letter. Gordon returns to earth, and the friends weigh in on the matter of seeing Sugi. Apologies for how long this took. My _Overtures_ muse spoke up, then real life weighed in heavily. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

The new week saw things getting back to normal. A.J. came back from his visit home a very happy young man. 

"We watched movies and ate popcorn together, and actually played catch... or at least tried to. I'm a lousy catcher, and Dad... well, he's no great shakes at pitching either." A.J.'s grin wouldn't stop as he described his weekend to Fermat on Sunday night. "And best of all... he tore up the transfer papers. He's decided I can stay!"

Fermat grinned back and offered a high five. "Hey, that's g-g-great, A.J.! I'm g-g-g... happy your dad came around."

A.J. slapped Fermat's outstretched hand. "More than that, he's going to start working out of New York instead of Geneva; says he wants to stay closer to home. I think it was something that Mr. Tracy said at dinner." A.J.'s demeanor turned momentarily thoughtful. "And maybe something your dad said, too. I'm not sure. But whatever it was, I'm so glad I'm staying!" He pumped his fist, the wide grin returning. "_Yes!_ I can hardly wait to tell the guys at breakfast!"

xxxx

Alan felt odd not going to the early breakfast with the other athletes. _I'll have to ask Zave if I should keep going, even though I'm benched. It'd make sure everyone knew that I'm still part of the team, even if I'm not back to playing yet. _

He checked his campus mailbox after lunch. He rarely did so; it wasn't like he got a lot of surface mail, as most everything came electronically. His grandmother in Kansas still sent him old-fashioned letters and cards from time to time. He hadn't paid much attention to them last year, but had vowed that this year would be different.

This time there was quite a pile. A letter from his grandmother, dated the week after school started, which made Alan cringe. Several official items from various school departments, including the approved roommate assignment forms and copies of his various late-to-class passes. There was also an envelope full of authorized absence notes that were sent to his teachers. "Accident or illness" had been put down as the reason he had been excused from the week's classes. He sighed. _I have so much work to make up! It's a good thing I __**am**__ benched!_

In the middle of the pile, under a "One week athletic shoe sale!" ad from the place he'd gotten his track shoes, was a plain white envelope with a Pittsfield postmark. The delivery information was handwritten, and there was no return address to be found. The penmanship was unfamiliar, and Alan puzzled over it for a long while on his way to class. Finally, he shoved it into his backpack with the rest of his mail and put it out of his mind as he resumed the soothingly normal routine of school.

xxxx

"I'm sorry, Jeff, but a judge isn't going to issue a restraining order based on one supervised visit." Art Trumbull shook his head. "If there was a pattern of harassment..."

"I don't want there to _be_ a 'pattern' of harassment, Art." Jeff scowled, tapping his stylus on the desktop in a frenzied tattoo. "I want that man – and his son – kept away from Alan!"

"I understand that, Jeff," Art replied, meeting Jeff's anger with an unruffled calm. "You're better off informing the school of your wishes and letting them handle the situation. If Dr. Sugimoto visits Alan again, or there's any communication between Lee and Alan, then we can rethink it. But it's not going to fly. Not even for Jeff Tracy."

"Damn!" Jeff threw the stylus down. It skittered off the desk, falling to clatter on the smooth hardwood floor.

"Look, Jeff," Art said, his tone conciliatory. "You've got a club to hold over Sugimoto if you want: the help Brains and my firm are giving – at your request – to help him cement his patent. If he keeps bothering Alan, you can lean on him... or have me lean on him."

"I don't even want to be involved in that matter," Jeff groused. He paused, ran a hand through his hair, then sighed. "Okay, Art. We'll play it your way... until given cause to do otherwise."

"Good call, Jeff. Tell me if there are any other incidents. Okay?"

"I'll keep you informed."

Art nodded. "By the way, Jeff, I've decided to keep Andrew at Wharton. I'll be going out to see him again this weekend."

Jeff smiled a little. "What made you change your mind?"

"He did." Art grinned. "We did some fun things over the weekend, and it made me realize how much I'd really missed. I figure that I'll miss even more if I don't make an effort to close the gap. Not to mention how often I heard, 'Alan this' and 'Fermat that' and all the other names in their little group." He sat back, using the thumb and first two fingers on each hand to twirl an old-fashioned yellow pencil between them. "He needs good friends, and he might as well stay where he's making some."

"Good thinking." Jeff leaned back in his chair, too. "Thanks for the legal advice, Art, even if it's not what I wanted to hear."

"You're welcome, Jeff. I'll keep abreast on the legal situation in Pittsfield, make sure everything's covered in case they have to go to trial. I hope they don't, for Alan's sake." Art nodded once, then added, "Talk to you later, Jeff."

"Right, Art. Have a good day."

The call terminated, and, with a sigh, Jeff got up to retrieve his stylus. As he stood, dropping the tool on his desk, there was a knock at the office door. "Come in."

Brains opened the door a little at first, peering in as if to gauge Jeff's mood. The latter waved him inside, and he entered, a data pad in hand.

"What's up, Brains?" Jeff returned to his chair and focused his attention on the engineer.

"I have g-g-good news," Brains stuttered. "I've found a way to bl-bl-bl... jam the signal from the new c-c-camera tech."

Jeff sat up straight, his interest piqued. "That _is_ good news. Show me what you've got."

Brains nodded, and together they went over the plans to disrupt Dr. Sugimoto's invention and its imitators.

xxxx

"Hey, Dom!" Alan called as he entered the room after classes.

"Hi, Alan! Sorry I can't stick around, but I've got a yearbook meeting..." Dom grinned at his roommate as he tied his shoes. "The photographers will be here next Wednesday, and there's a lot of scheduling to be done before then."

Alan groaned. He moved toward his desk and put his backpack down beside it. "Tie and suit coat day?"

" 'Fraid so," Dom replied, a commiserating look on his face. "Freshmen and sophomores don't have to wear them until Thursday. Juniors and seniors are photographed on Wednesday. Then teams, clubs, and faculty will have pictures taken on Friday."

"Must be a scheduling nightmare," Alan said, frowning a little as he thought over the ramifications of Dom's job. He shrugged out of his jacket, wincing a little at the motion.

"Yeah." Dom sighed. "Especially when people don't show up. Trying to track them down for the make-up day is a bear."

"At least my face will be in better shape by then," Alan said as he put the jacket away.

"I hope so! What you've got now might break the camera!" Dom quipped. He straightened, retrieved a heavy cardigan from where it lay on his bed, and grabbed a backpack – not his usual one, but a blue and white bag with the Wharton crest, and "Property of Wharton Academy" stenciled on it. "See ya at dinner!"

"Yeah, see ya," Alan said, giving Dom a wave as the latter hurried out. He sighed, opened his backpack and pulled out his math book. The mail he'd stuffed in there earlier came spilling out with it. He swore and began picking up the pieces, throwing out the junk, putting the important things on his desk. The plain envelope caught his eye.

"Wonder who this is from?" he muttered as he sat down to open it. "I don't know anyone in Pittsfield."

He pulled from the envelope a single, small sheet of cream colored paper, folded once. He unfolded it and frowned as he saw that the top and bottom of the paper had been neatly shorn, as if to remove incriminating marks of some kind. His frown deepened when he read the long, left-oriented scrawl.

"_Alan, I really need to talk to you. You're the only one who can help me. Please come to see me at the county jail._

_Lee Sugimoto"_

xxxx

"How does she look?"

Gordon turned from the diagnostic computer hooked up to Thunderbird Three. "She looks good; I think fuel consumption was even better on this trip than before." He downloaded the statistics onto a data stick. "Did Brains tweak the fuel mix or something?"

"I don't think so," Scott said as he looked over is brother's shoulder at the readouts. "Actually, he hasn't had time, being out at Wharton and all." He paused, an eyebrow rising as he nodded. "Very nice figures there, Gords. Wonder if it had anything to do with John's piloting down and back up."

That comment earned a snort from the younger man. "Right, sure." He glanced at Scott with a sly smile. "Did you see a difference in the fuel consumption on One when he was doing all that hopping around in Abkhazia?"

Scott looked thoughtful. "Hm. I don't remember seeing anything of the sort... but then, I wasn't looking for it either." He clapped Gordon on the shoulder. "I think I'll go check the logs and see!"

Gordon shook his head and huffed out a breath as Scott sauntered off, whistling.

xxxx

"What do you think?"

Zave handed the letter back to Alan and shook his head. "No way, man. No way. Don't touch it." He picked up one of his glasses of soft drink and drained it in one long gulping stream. He smacked his lips when he was done, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "He'll ask you to drop charges or something."

"Don't go, Alan," Jason added. "He's made his choice, now let him deal with the consequences."

Alan glanced at Kay, who shook his head vehemently. "I agree with them; don't see him. You're not the only one involved here, Alan. If he talks you into doing something stupid, like dropping the charges, it might affect the other guy – the one they beat up first."

"Not to mention what they did to me and Kay," Dom added. He made a sour face. "Though Sugi wasn't involved in either of those."

"We don't know if Sugi was involved in that third attack," A.J. said quietly. After hearing the fierceness in his friends' voices, he didn't want to make himself a target, but felt the point needed to be made.

"We d-don't kn-know that he isn't, e-either," Fermat pointed out. He glanced over at Alan. "Or d-do we?" Putting a hand on Alan's arm, he asked, "Was he in the r-room at the time? Would he a-ask you to be his a-a-alibi?"

Alan's face took on a deeply thoughtful look. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. Let's see; the attack before mine was on a Friday..."

"No, a Thursday," Kay corrected. "Remember? It happened the night before that big school wide meeting."

"You were still his roommate then," Dom said in an encouraging fashion.

"Okay, then. Thursday." Alan looked down and closed his eyes. "Thursday." He opened his eyes and glanced around. "Which Thursday was it?"

The others groaned, and set their minds to remembering more details. Fermat, as expected, came through. "The Thunderbirds had a r-rescue the day before – off the c-c-coast of Au-Australia."

"Right!" Jason said. "Pulling up a submersible. There was a waterspout involved."

"Y-You and I had an i-i-i... we called each o-other s-silly names."

Alan nodded. "Right. I remember that... wombat."

Fermat nearly choked on his drink, and Kay whacked his friend hard between the shoulder blades. Zave, Dom, and A.J. all gave Alan odd looks, but Jason grinned. He was a veteran of the pair's insult slinging fights.

Alan focused on the day's events, trying to arrange them in his mind in chronological order. An additional memory surfaced, and he turned it over in his thoughts to determine if it fit that evening.

_Sugi... he showed up late, just after first warning; his pants were all muddy and grass-stained. Said he'd been throwing the football around with some friends. I took it at face value, then. He might have been doing what he said he'd been.. or he might have been out pounding on Erik_. _I have no proof one way or the other. _

"S-So?"

Fermat's voice cut into his thoughts, and Alan shook his head. "Nope." He explained what had happened that evening. "I can't prove he _was_ helping those creeps out, but I can't be his alibi, either. Not and still tell the truth."

"So, then, just stay away from him," Jason reiterated.

Dom weighed in. "But you might want to write down what you just remembered, Alan. It could be important."

"Good idea, Dom. I'll do it after dinner." Alan glanced up and around the room. "And it looks like that's nearly over."

The other boys looked up, and noticed that they were nearly the last ones in the dining hall. Hurriedly, they ate their last few bits of food, piled their flatware on their trays, and headed for the tray disposal area. Alan hurriedly shoved the note into his pants pocket.

Sable was working again. "Hey, Blondie," she said as she took Alan's tray. "Hear you're on the track team. You gonna be able to run with your face like that?"

"Yeah, eventually," Alan replied. He gazed at her for a moment, puzzled. "How come you work breakfast and dinner, but not lunch?"

"Got a _life_ during the daylight hours, Blondie. Places to go and people to be." She held out her hands as Jason came up behind Alan. "See you on the flip side, Clyde."

As Alan walked to the group's appointed meeting spot, he heard Sable ask, "How's it hangin', Red?" and he chuckled. One by one, his friends joined him. Jason's cheeks were flaming red with embarrassment.

"Y'know, Jase," Alan said as he led the group out into the chilly night. "You need some kind of snappy comeback."

"Yeah," said Dom, nodding his head. "She probably only does this to jerk your chain."

"Easy for you to say," Jason grumbled. "She's not doing this to any of you!"

"Hey, let's see what kind of retort we can come up with for ol' Jase here," Kay said, grinning. "It's obvious he's not going to think of something witty on the spot."

As the rest of the group began batting ideas around, Alan dropped back to pace Fermat. "What do you think I should do about this letter?" he asked. "I mean, I'm not going to visit him. Everyone's right about that. Even Dad doesn't want me going near him."

"I think you sh-should tell your D-Dad about it," Fermat replied quietly. "Then maybe Mr. M-Mags. Give him the l-letter and the e-envelope. He can decide if the p-police need to s-s-s... examine it."

Alan sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. "I just wish this whole damn thing would hurry up and be over with! I just want things back to normal!"

"It'll g-get there, Alan," Fermat said, reaching up to pat his friend on the shoulder. "It'll g-get there."

_

* * *

What will Alan do with the letter? What will Jeff have to say about it? When will Alan be allowed to compete? What kind of comeback will Jason use? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	57. Undreamed of Question

_Author's note: _Fallout from the letter. Father and son talk. An unanticipated request. Apologies for how long this took. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. Small correction made on 5/7/08 concerning game days.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Despite his good intentions, Alan never did call Jeff. His teachers piled on the homework, and finishing it filled the hours between the end of classes and dinner. After dinner, he was invited to play air hockey against a couple of his fellow track teammates. It seemed that every time he thought of calling his father about the note, he wasn't in a place where he could do so, and lights out came far sooner than he expected. "I'll call tomorrow," he promised himself. "As soon as the time zones are favorable."

Early the next morning, Alan went to breakfast with the team, and checked in with Coach Evans. The coach smiled. "Thanks for telling me about the plastic surgery. Just remember that you're still benched until your general practitioner clears you."

"Right, Coach. I remember. I just wanted to let you know what the plastic surgeon said."

When he and the coach were finished talking, Alan went back to his room. Dom was up, and on his way to breakfast.

"Hey, aren't you coming?"

Alan shook his head. "Already been, with the team. I'm going to check over my homework and see Mr. Mag before classes."

"Ah, okay." Dom nodded, understanding. "See you at lunch then!"

After fifteen minutes of staring blankly at his math homework, Alan sighed. He shook his head. "I can't concentrate," he muttered. Rising, he stuffed his book into his backpack. Then he picked up the letter from Sugi. "I'd better protect this with something." Rummaging around in his desk drawers, he found a used manila envelope. "This should do." Sliding the letter and the envelope in carefully, he folded the flap, fastened it with the still-sticky edges, and slid it into his backpack. That done, he headed off to the security office.

Mr. Magnuson wasn't there, but Officer Culp was. "You say you got this in your mailbox yesterday?"

"Yeah." Alan shuffled his feet a little. "My dad said he'd try and get a restraining order against the Sugimotos. I don't know if he's gotten one yet, but if he has, wouldn't this violate it or something?"

"It would, depending on when he got it." Mr. Culp carefully transferred the envelope and letter to a clear, plastic bag. "I haven't heard whether or not an order has been issued. Still, better safe than sorry, right?" He sealed up the bag. "I'll just put a sticker on this and let Mr. Magnuson know about it when he comes in. He might want to talk to you later."

Alan nodded. "Sure. I'll be around. Thanks for taking care of this."

Mr. Culp smiled. "You're welcome. Better head to class; you don't have much time."

Alan glanced at his watch, and stifled a curse. "You're right! Gotta go!" He waved at Officer Culp, and headed off at a sprint toward his classroom, arriving seconds before the bell sounded. Fermat glanced over as Alan dropped into his seat.

"Wh-What h-h-h... what's up?" Fermat whispered.

"Tell you later," Alan promised as Mr. Graboski rose to begin their class.

xxxx

It was during Spanish class that Alan got the summons. Dr. Cambiaso, the language teacher, looked over at his open laptop and frowned. He pressed a key, then uploaded a translation exercise to the white board, and gave instructions. While the class worked on the exercise, he scribbled a quick note, then made his customary rounds of the class, peering over shoulders to correct those who were struggling. When he arrived at Alan's desk, he handed the note over.

Alan opened it. _Mr. Magnuson wants to see you after classes are over._ Glancing up, he said, "Gracias, Señor."

The teacher said nothing, just nodded and gave Alan's shoulder a brief squeeze before continuing down the row. Fermat glanced over, and Alan showed him the note. The younger boy sighed, shaking his head.

When the school day was done, Alan headed straight to the security office. He was surprised to find Kerry Larson, the detective who had first interviewed him, sitting across from Mr. Magnuson, and a middle-aged man he didn't recognize sitting next to her.

"Come in, Alan," Mr. Magnuson said, waving the student in. "Put your things down there, and have a seat. I think you remember Detective Larson, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." Alan offered his hand, and the police officer took it.

"And this is Mr. Palmer Wolfe, your attorney."

Alan frowned. "I don't remember..."

Mr. Wolfe smiled at him. "Your father put a bug in Mr. Trumbull's ear, and here I am. I'm listed with the Massachusetts State Bar Association, and so I'll be representing you." He nodded toward the open laptop on Mr. Magnuson's desk. "I think you know who that is."

The security chief turned the laptop around to show Jeff, sitting in his office on Tracy Island. Alan's frown was quickly replaced with a look of surprise.

"Hello, Alan."

"Hey, Dad."

Jeff's gaze searched Alan's face, then he smiled. "You're looking better, son."

Alan's smile was more tentative, and confusion was still in his voice. "I'm feeling better. Things don't hurt as much."

"Good!" Jeff paused a beat, then said, "We're here to discuss the note you received yesterday. I wish you'd called and told me about it first."

"I'm sorry, Dad." Alan shook his head as he sat down, his expression concerned and apprehensive. "It seemed that every time I remembered to call, something else was going on and I couldn't stop." He sighed. "Besides, I was a little... um... nervous about how you'd react."

Jeff opened his mouth to say something, then paused. He huffed out a breath, and shook his head. "Never mind. We can discuss it later." Another pause, and he glanced over at the detective. "I think Detective Larson has some questions to ask, and perhaps some information for us."

"Yes, a little of both." Kerry Larson opened up her PDA, and crossed her legs at the knee. "We've had a good look at the letter you received, Alan. The school's been very helpful; they've given us samples of Lee Sugimoto's handwriting. It doesn't match what's on the letter, unfortunately. We think we have a lead on the paper; the fact that it's been cropped top and bottom means it's likely from one of the local hotels. And..." she glanced over at Jeff, "...Mr. Tracy has promised us copies of Dr. Sugimoto's handwriting."

"Ah, yes." Palmer opened his briefcase. "Here is one of the contracts Dr. Sugimoto signed for Professor Hackenbacker." He handed over a sheet of paper. "Hopefully you'll find this helpful."

"Thank you." The detective took it by a corner, and slid it into a manila envelope.

"Mr. Tracy, if this letter is indeed from Dr. Sugimoto, there's a possibility of a restraining order," Wolfe said as he closed up his case.

"You mean there isn't one?" Alan asked, sitting up suddenly.

"Not yet, Alan," Jeff explained. "Mr. Trumbull was of the opinion that one visit didn't warrant an order. But this new development... well, you heard what Mr. Wolfe said."

"Even without a restraining order, you'll be safe, Alan." Mr. Magnuson spoke up. He shifted uncomfortably behind his desk. "I know it seems that our security has been lax, but we've added new officers..."

"The fact that Dr. Sugimoto was under escort on his visit to Alan gives me an optimistic view of your security procedures, Mr. Magnuson," Jeff said firmly. "But I think the detective has something more to say."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Tracy." Kerry turned her attention to Alan. "I'm curious, Alan. Do you have any idea of how you might help Lee Sugimoto? Any reason he'd want to talk to you?"

"I don't know," Alan admitted. "I suppose it depends on what the police have charged him with."

"Well, there are two cases, really. Yours, and the one stemming from the previous assault," Mr. Wolfe had pulled out his PDA. "He's pleaded guilty to assaulting you, as have the the other three men, so there won't be any trial." He glanced up and smiled slightly. "The judge admitted the recording into evidence, which made the difference there."

"That's good," Alan said with a relieved sigh. "I really didn't want to go through a trial or anything."

"You still may have to appear before the court, Alan," Kerry said. "It depends on the other assault and how that's going to be handled." She sat forward, keeping her eyes on Alan's face. "Why do you think Lee Sugimoto and his friends assaulted you?"

Alan's answer was quick. "Because he hated me. Hated that I was rich. Because I stood up to him and he didn't like that."

"Was there any other reason? Any other reason at all? You've mentioned 'he'. Are you talking about Lee?

"Yeah. That's who I was talking about.

Kerry frowned a bit, and made a note in her PDA. "What about the others? Can you think why they might have been in on the assault?"

This time, Alan thought carefully, then he shrugged. "I don't really know. I just figured they were helping him out."

"You didn't have any conflict with them?" she pressed.

"Well, with Steve, yeah. He wasn't very happy to be training me to throw javelin. He kept making comments..." Alan's voice trailed off as he put two and two together.

"What kind of comments, Alan?"

"About... about a rumor he'd heard." Alan's voice was soft. "Sugi... Lee, he said he'd make my life miserable because I stood up to him. I figured he started the rumor that my friend Fermat and I were... gay." He glanced up, his face bleak. "That's what you want to know, isn't it? If they attacked me because they thought I was gay."

Kerry sighed. "Yes. According to the other victim, it was the motive for the assault on him. We need to know if there's a connection. It will determine what kind of sentences the District Attorney can ask for." She looked at him expectantly. "So, what about the others? Steve made comments; did anyone else?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Pierce did. In front of witnesses. I didn't know the other guy – Mickey."

"So, do you feel they could have been helping Lee because they thought you were homosexual?"

"I – I don't know." Alan shook his head. "I always thought it was because of the steroid thing, because Sugi and Steve were expelled. I figured that Pierce knew it was just a rumor and he was getting his giggles from jerking my chain." He sighed, and lifted his hands. "Now, I don't know what to think."

"That's all right, son." Jeff's voice was full of encouragement and compassion. "It's okay."

"I appreciate you telling us this, Alan." Kerry made more notes in her PDA, then looked up to make eye contact with those around her, then settled her gaze on Alan again. "Back to the original question: can you think of a reason why Lee Sugimoto would want to see you? Why does he think you can help him?"

"I'm still not sure. Was he arrested for the other assault?" Alan asked.

"He's been maintaining his innocence in that incident," Kerry told them all. "But the others, Pierce and Mickey, have been pointing their fingers at him as well. Still, there's no evidence one way or the other." She shifted in her chair, and ran her stylus over her PDA's screen again. "I understand you were still his roommate at that point."

"Yeah, I was." Alan sat up straighter. "And I was thinking about that just yesterday, when I was talking to my friends about the letter."

Jeff frowned; it hurt a little that Alan had turned to his friends first, instead of his father. _But that's why he's there, isn't it? So I can let go and he can stand on his own._ The thought was cold comfort, and when he returned his attention to the conversation, he found he'd missed the detective's next question.

"He came in just before curfew, and his pants were all muddy and grass-stained," Alan was saying. "He saw me looking at them, and told me he'd been out tossing a football around with some friends."

"Did he tell you who the friends were?" Kerry was making more notes.

"No, and I didn't ask. He was snarky enough as it was. Told me it was really none of my business."

"I see. When was curfew?"

"Nine o'clock... no, wait! Nine-thirty. It was before... before they changed the time."

"You mentioned that his slacks were muddy and grass-stained. Were they dry? Wet?"

Alan stopped to think. "Damp. Not really wet. Not dry."

"Hm." Kerry made another note. "That was all? No other conversation? Nothing else you noticed?"

"No." Alan shook his head emphatically. "Nothing."

The detective took in a deep breath and let it out as an equally-deep sigh. "I'll give this to the District Attorney, but I don't think it'll be enough to include Lee Sugimoto in the first assault. I also don't think it'll be enough to upgrade the assault on Alan to a hate crime. There doesn't seem to be any connection between the two on that level."

"But Pierce made a comment to me, and Erik, he..." Belatedly, Alan remembered that no one at school was supposed to know who had gotten hurt.

Kerry raised an eyebrow as she turned her gaze back to Alan. "Erik? Where did you come up with that name?"

Alan shifted in his seat. He glanced at his father, who nodded slightly, encouraging him to tell what he knew. "Erik Tolbert. I heard that he was the one who got beat up. I went to visit him in the hospital, and he told me what they called him. He warned me, because he thought that the rumor might make me a target, too."

The detective was making notes again. "What kind of remark did Pierce make? And what did Erik say?"

"I don't remember exactly what Pierce said... he made a lot of cracks to me about being gay. But Erik stood up for me, made it clear that it didn't matter to him what a person's orientation was." Alan colored. "In fact, the rumor is kinda what made him want to be friends with me – that and track team. He thought I'd be someone who'd understand." He looked down at his hands. "I figured that was what made them target him."

"I see." Kerry shuffled through her notes again, highlighting some and moving others around. Finally, she looked at them for a long moment. "I'm going to upload this to the District Attorney right now. He might have a couple more questions." She smiled at the men surrounding her as she rose. "I'll head out to my car. Alan, if you could stay close until I'm done, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure. I'll wait." He rose, as did the other two men in the room, as the detective excused herself and left.

"Mr. Magnuson, I'd like to talk to my son, if it's all right with you." Jeff was lightly tapping a stylus on his desk. "I can phone him, if talking to him this way is a problem..."

"Not a problem at all, Mr. Tracy," Mr. Magnuson said. "I have some work to do in the communications center, so I'll be out of your way." He gave Jeff a grim smile. "The detective might want you handy when she returns, anyway."

"I'll wait out in the anteroom for further instructions." Mr. Wolfe was looking over his own notes, taken during Alan's interview. "Give you two some privacy."

Jeff nodded. "Thanks."

The men left, Mr. Magnuson closing the door behind him. Jeff put the stylus down. Alan pulled his chair close to the desk so he could face his father squarely.

"You did well, Alan. You weren't afraid to speak up." He shook his head. "It would have been better to leave your friend out of it, but it seems there may be more of a connection between the two attacks than previously thought."

"Yeah." Alan made a face. "If they hadn't been caught, I wonder who would have been next. Fermat? He was part of the rumor, too."

"Just be thankful they were caught, and are in jail. They can't hurt anyone else." Jeff made a mental shift, dismissing the previous subject. "Speaking of Fermat, I've made an appointment with Dr. Gupta to see you and him on Thursday. He's got a practice in Pittsfield, and was the doctor on duty when Fermat broke his arm. I'll make arrangements for a car to pick you both up after classes. Who knows? Fermat might get rid of his cast, and you might be cleared for track again."

Alan's face lit up. "That'd be great, Dad. I know Fermat's _itching_ to get rid of that cast."

Jeff laughed. "I'm sure he is. Has he tried using a ruler yet?"

"I don't know. I'll have to ask. Maybe we can find him some chopsticks," Alan said with a lopsided grin.

"Yeah, those would probably work." Jeff's smile was warm as he asked, "So, how is school going? Getting caught up on your homework?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Being benched has its advantages that way. Though Zave told me I should go to breakfast with the team. I did that this morning." Alan shrugged. "If Dr. Gupta clears me for sports, then I can practice with the team next week and maybe help with equipment at the meet this Saturday. It's an away game." He grinned again. "I can hardly wait to get back. It'll make things feel right again."

Jeff's smile widened. It was good to see Alan's attitude change, to see him back to his old self. The ordeal occasioned by this assault wasn't over, but he knew his son, knew his resilience. Alan would be all right; Jeff was sure of it.

"So, how's everyone at home? Did John get back upstairs okay?" Alan asked.

"Yes, he did. Things are quiet here, actually, which probably means that Gordon's gearing up for some spectacular prank. Tin-Tin seems glad to be home; I offered to pay for her schooling elsewhere, but Kyrano and Onaha feel she'd be better off with the satellite program she was using before."

"That's too bad," Alan said. "I mean, things didn't go so well for her in England, but she did make some friends and she'll miss that. Just like I'd have missed my friends if I'd stayed to be home educated." He smiled slightly. "Thanks, Dad, for not letting me have my way."

"Now that's something I'd never thought I'd hear."

Before they could continue, the detective returned, and Palmer Wolfe followed her into the office. She sat down again, and Alan turned his chair to face her.

"The District Attorney is grateful for the information you've provided, Alan," Kerry began. "It'll help with connecting the dots on how Pierce and Mickey discovered Erik's alleged orientation. But it doesn't really help us nail Lee. He's maintaining his innocence, and to be frank, Erik can't give us any solid identification."

"Yeah. He told me what happened." Alan cocked his head. "Though I'm surprised he couldn't recognize Sugi's voice. I mean, we were all on the track team together."

"That's what has been keeping us from charging Lee." The detective had her PDA out again. "Erik was a freshman, and admits he wasn't with the team very long. That makes it difficult for him to give us any idea of who beat him up. We're going with the recording you provided to charge Mickey and Pierce."

"Doesn't their testimony put Lee at the scene of this first assault?" Wolfe asked.

"But there's no external corroboration," Kerry explained. "With the fact that a deadly weapon may have been involved – the perps deny using a gun on Erik – the DA needs more evidence before this comes to trial." She glanced between father, son, and lawyer, then back at the son. "Alan, Lee Sugimoto thinks he needs you for some reason. He sent his father to talk to you, and probably asked him to send that note to you, asking for your help. We have to know why he thinks this, how he expects you to help him. It may make all the difference in whether or not we can charge him with assaulting Erik, and what his punishment will be for attacking you." She took a deep breath. "The district attorney has asked me to ask you: would you help us by visiting and speaking with Lee Sugimoto?"

_

* * *

Will Alan agree to visit Sugi? What will Jeff have to say about it? Will Fermat get some chopsticks? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	58. Undigestible Agreement

_Author's note: _Alan makes a decision, then asks his friends some questions. Again, apologies for how long this took. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to MathGirl's hubby for Jason's comeback.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff frowned, opening his mouth to speak, and the detective raised a hand. "Please, Mr. Tracy, hear me out." Jeff subsided, and she took a deep breath. "I can't blame you if you don't want Alan to meet with Lee. I wouldn't want my teenage son in that kind of situation either, especially since there's no guarantee that we'd learn anything new, or he'd say anything incriminating." She spread her hands and shrugged. "I can't compel Alan to do as I ask, nor do I have any real arguments as to why he should. I just have this gut feeling that, if Alan were to talk to Lee, some matters would become clearer. Then the District Attorney might know for certain if it was worth his while to charge Lee and his cohorts with a hate crime in Alan's case, and whether to press forward against Lee in Erik's." 

She paused, considering her words. "They're going to jail anyway, Mr. Tracy, for pleading guilty in Alan's attack. The questions are: for how long, and who will pay for beating on Erik? The recording implicates only Mickey specifically. Pierce actually confessed to the beating when he'd heard it was entered into evidence – but not to it being a hate crime on his part. Alan's testimony today may help there. They've both fingered Lee, but his lawyer has told him to stand his ground."

"What about Steve?" Alan asked suddenly. "Was he in on Erik's beating? Erik did say there were three of them."

"It doesn't look like it; his roommate came forward and provided an alibi." She shook her head again. "You don't have to give an answer now, but please, Alan, Mr. Tracy, at least consider it."

Jeff sat back, absently tapping his chin with his stylus. "Wolfe? Would it do anything to hurt Alan's case?" Alan glanced over at his father, surprised.

"No, it wouldn't." Palmer had his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers steepled. "As Detective Larson has stated, they _are _going to jail for what they did to Alan. The only difference would be in the sentencing."

Father and son gazed at each other through the computer screen. "Alan?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

Jeff sighed. "I'm... leaving this one up to you. I know you've said you weren't going to see Lee, but you also said you wanted to know why he attacked you, why he hated you." He dropped the stylus onto the desk, and looked at it for a moment before raising his eyes to the screen once more. "If you don't want to go, fine. I've given you my opinion on the matter. But... if there's a chance of helping your friend's cause, or answering your question..." He let his words trail off. _Have to let him make the decision this time. He needs to be at peace with whatever he chooses._ "You do what you think is right, son."

Alan's shoulders slumped, and he began to feel queasy._ Why is this back in __**my**__ lap? Everybody said "don't go", and I listened. I mean, that's what wise people do, right? They listen to advice they're given. Dad said there were questions that never get answered; I was fine with that, too. But now there's Erik, and Lee might've been involved, and... the question's still there: "Why?" I told the detective why I thought Sugi attacked me, but with the question she asked, now I don't know for sure. And I __**do**__ want to know for sure. Dad's leaving it up to me. Why can't he just say 'no' and let me off the hook?_ He took a deep breath. The room felt like it was small and getting smaller as the weight of the decision pressed on him. The others were looking at him, waiting for his response. _What'll they think of me if I refuse? And will I be left wondering if I could've gotten some answers?_

Finally, he sighed and passed a hand through his hair. "Okay. When do you want me to see him?"

Detective Larson seemed to relax and gave him a small smile. "I'll get back to you on that. It'll take a couple of days to set things up. And Alan? You can back out at any time. No one is forcing you to go through with this. I personally appreciate your willingness to do this, and your courage. But if it's too much, call me and we'll cancel it." She stood and handed him a business card. "Just to make sure you have my number." She turned to Mr. Wolfe and gave him one, too. "In case you have any questions."

"Thank you, Detective." Wolfe tucked it into a small folder. "Alan, as soon as you know when the meeting is, please call me, or have your father do so. I will be there as your legal representative."

Alan stuck the detective's card in his pocket, and rubbed the back of his neck. His face was still troubled as he glanced at his father's picture. Jeff's eyes and smile were sympathetic, and he nodded slightly.

"Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?" Jeff asked. He glanced at his watch. "We've been here a while, and I'm sure Alan has some homework to do before dinner."

"I think I'm finished," Detective Larson said. She picked up her jacket, and shrugged into it. "Thank you, Mr. Tracy, Alan, for hearing me out. And thank you, Mr. Magnuson for letting us use your office. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Detective. Always happy to work with the local police." Mr. Magnuson stood, too, and shook her outstretched hand.

She shook hands with Wolfe, then with Alan. "If there's anything else you remember, or you feel we should know, call me. And as I said before, if you want to back out, you can."

"I'll remember," Alan said, mustering up a slight smile. The roiling in his stomach hadn't eased, which made it hard for him to be upbeat about much of anything. She returned the smile, and left. A draft of cooler air came into the room with her departure, emphasizing the comparative stuffiness of the office; something that Alan hadn't even noticed until that moment.

"You and I will speak again, later, Alan," Mr. Wolfe said as he gathered his own things. "You might want to get a list of those witnesses who heard... what was his name?" Wolfe glanced down at his PDA, where he'd been making discreet notes all during the session. "Ah, yes. Pierce. A list of those who heard Pierce make those suggestive comments to you, with dates and times, if possible. If the District Attorney decides to charge your assailants with a hate crime, those witnesses will be essential."

"Yes, sir," Alan replied.

They shook hands, and Mr. Wolfe said to Jeff, "I'll be in touch, Mr. Tracy."

"Talk to you again soon, Wolfe."

Mr. Magnuson went to walk Mr. Wolfe out, leaving only Alan and Jeff. Alan's attention was on the door, and he was absently rubbing his right shoulder.

"Alan?" Jeff called, concerned.

The teen turned. His face looked bleak and tired. "Yeah, Dad?"

"How's the shoulder?"

Alan pulled his hand away and gazed at it, as if realizing what he'd been doing, then let it drop. "It's fine. I'm just..." He faltered, and shook his head.

"Overwhelmed?"

Alan finally turned his full attention to his father, and saw the understanding in his face that he'd heard in Jeff's voice. "Yeah. A little." He sighed. "I thought this whole thing was over, y'know what I mean? But it's not." He reached up to touch his cheek. "Will it ever be?"

"Yes, son. It will come to an end, and soon. I promise." Jeff smiled in sympathy. "You'll heal, those who hurt you will be punished, and things will get back to normal. But it's something that will still leave marks, and I'm not talking physical scars, either. That's something you'll have to expect... and that we'll deal with together, okay?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah, okay." He paused, then asked, "Can you come out here? When I have to talk to Sugi?"

Jeff's face turned serious as he thought over the request. "Possibly. I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, you get something to eat, and do that homework! I'll talk to you again later, and I'll email you the details for Thursday. "

"Okay, Dad, I will." Alan glanced over at Mr. Magnuson, who had just looked in. "I think Mr. Mags wants his office back." He turned back to Jeff. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Whenever you need to, son," Jeff told him. "Have a good night."

"Thanks, Dad. Bye."

The screen came up with a "call disconnected" and Alan sighed heavily. Mr. Magnuson came in, and put a hand on Alan's shoulder.

"You all right, Alan?"

Alan nodded, picking up his jacket, sliding it on carefully, then picking up his backpack. "I'll be okay. Better go; I have homework to do."

"Right." Mr. Magnuson ushered him to the door. "You have a nice night, now."

"Thanks." With a nod, Alan left the office. The twilight took him by surprise; he hadn't realized how long they'd been in the security office. The cool air felt good at first, and the openness was welcome after the close feeling of the office. Still, after just a few moments he'd zipped his jacket up, settled the backpack on his shoulders, and stuck his hands in his pockets. His shoulder ached with the weight of his books, but though he was tempted to pull it off and sling it over the uninjured shoulder, he didn't. The ache reminded him that he still had a good amount of physical healing to do.

"Hey, Pinky!" called a voice. Alan looked up to find Jason and Qaeshon coming toward him.

"Hey, guys." The two friends met up with him and reversed their direction, falling into step.

"How'd things go with Mr. Mags?" Jason asked. "The Brain told us you had to see him after classes were over."

"Yeah, we were on our way down to see if you were through," Kay told him.

"It was... long," Alan admitted. "The detective who's working on the case had a lot of questions for me." He shrugged his right shoulder, sliding a thumb under his pack's strap, trying to settle it in a different spot. "They had my dad there via satellite, and my... my lawyer was there, too."

"Is your pack bothering you?" Jason asked, frowning, as he noticed Alan's actions. When Alan didn't answer, he stopped and put a hand out. "Give it here."

With a relieved sigh, Alan stopped, and with Kay's help, slipped out of the backpack's straps. Jason took charge of it, while Kay took up the thread of their conversation as they continued walking toward the dorms.

"A lawyer, huh?" Kay scratched the back of his neck. "So, they think this is going to trial?"

"No, not really." Alan rolled his shoulder again. "Dad just thinks it's good for me to have legal counsel. I suppose because the investigation is still going on."

"Investigation? I thought those turds pleaded guilty!" Jason asked, incredulous. "What's left to investigate? Just lock the door and throw away the key!"

"Not that easy, Jase," Kay said, spreading his hands. "There's this thing called sentencing, you know."

"And there's another case involved," Alan said quietly. He stopped and turned to Jason. "Jase, why do you think Sugi and his creepy friends attacked me?"

Jason blinked, and frowned. "I dunno. He didn't like the way you stood up to him, and there was the whole thing with Trey..." He shrugged. "I don't think I gave it much thought before. He said he'd make your life miserable, and this was part of it."

"Kay?"

Qaeshon had figured he'd be asked the question, too, and had thought about his answer for a moment. "I guess it's like Jason said; you stood up to Sugi and he didn't like it. Though," he paused for a thoughtful moment, "from what Zave tells me, the steroids might have done something to Sugi's brain, made him irrational." He spread his hands. "I'm not saying that's an excuse, but it might be a reason why he went so overboard."

"What about the creepy friends?" Alan pressed, resuming his walk. "Why do you think they helped him?"

Jason gave him a "I can't believe you just said that" look. "Duh! They're his _friends_, Pinky."

"Yeah, but were they good enough friends to risk jail time just to help him beat someone up?" Alan turned to Kay, who looked thoughtful. "Kay? What do you think?"

Qaeshon was quiet for a moment, then said slowly, "I remember what we heard on that radio thing the Brain was wearing. Mickey wanted to stop, and Sugi just reamed him out for it. He blamed Mickey and Pierce for getting him hooked on the steroids." His eyes widened. "Wait. I think I know what you're getting at. What Mickey said about the 'gay kid'."

By this time they were climbing the steps to Birchwood. Alan shook his head. "Yeah, that. Though I can't remember exactly what he said." He sighed. "Things are so jumbled now; it's like it was all a bad dream."

"Well, you were kind of occupied while those creeps were talking," Jason said as they arrived at Alan's room. Alan knocked briefly, and when there was no answer, he put his hand to the scanner and opened the door. No one was there.

When the door closed behind them, Kay asked quietly, "You think the police think Mickey and Pierce were helping because they thought you were gay?"

"Yeah," Alan admitted. "That's what the detective seemed to be getting at, anyway. They're trying to see if the creeps, Sugi included, could be charged with a hate crime in my case." He took his backpack from Jason. "Thanks, Jase. I appreciate the help."

"No problem, Pinky," Jason replied. Scratching his head, he added, "I don't remember them talking as if you were gay. It all seemed to be about Sugi and his getting kicked out of school."

"I agree," said Qaeshon. "We can ask the Brain tonight; he'll remember all the conversation."

"Speaking of the Brain..." Jason waved toward the clock on Alan's desk. "We'd better head for dinner."

"I'm... not very hungry," Alan said, frowning.

"Doesn't matter," Kay said, tugging his arm. "We have a strategy to plan, and you need to be there, food or no food. Come on!"

Jason got behind Alan and gave him a careful push. Alan glared at him as his two friends maneuvered him out the door, but he finally gave in and headed down to the dining hall with them.

xxxx

"So, Dad," Scott said as the family sat down for lunch. "You were holed up in your office for quite a while this morning."

Jeff rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah. I had a conference call with the folks at Wharton."

The glass stopped on its way up Virgil's mouth. "Wharton? What's going on there?" he asked, frowning.

"The detective who is handling Alan's case wanted to ask him some questions, and wanted me handy." Jeff smiled wearily. "I can't always ask for hours that suit my schedule."

"I guess not," Virgil replied, his frown easing.

"So, what kinds of questions did she ask?" Gordon asked between bites of chicken. "I mean, didn't she get all the info she needed from Alan earlier?"

"Not to mention what's on that recording," Scott added.

Jeff shifted in his seat, his face showing how uncomfortable he was with his subject. "It seems that the District Attorney is having trouble figuring out how to charge Alan's assailants. He's looking at the possibility of a hate crime..."

"Hate crime?" Scott put down his fork and turned his full attention to his father. "What kind of hate crime?"

With a sigh, Jeff said, "The comments made on the recording... they're looking at charging Lee and his friends with assaulting Alan because of the rumor that went around."

Gordon's fork dropped onto his plate with a clang. "You mean, because they thought Alan was gay?" he growled.

Jeff nodded.

"Damn." Virgil scowled. "Didn't Sugimoto start that rumor? Wouldn't they know it was one?"

"Who knows? Alan said Pierce made comments to him about it... he might have believed it was true."

"Pierce is _not_ the brightest bulb in the box," Gordon said, picking his fork up again. "I should know."

"In any case, I'd better be ready to fly out there." Jeff stretched, drawing in a deep breath. "The detective talked Alan into talking to Sugimoto..."

"What?!" Four voices cried in near unison. Brains had entered the conversation, and his reaction blended with that of the three brothers. "He's going to_ t-talk_ to that c-c-c... b-b-b... sh...sh...sh..." he took a deep breath, "unmentionable person?"

"Yes." Jeff shook his head. "The detective thinks that they'll be able to learn something if he talks to Lee Sugimoto. He's asked me to be there."

"When is it going to happen?" Scott asked, sitting back, a frown on his face.

"I don't know yet. Detective Larson said it'd take a couple of days. Hopefully it'll be after Alan's doctor's visit."

"H-Have you made the a-a-a... have you c-called about that?" Brains asked.

"Yes, for both Alan and Fermat," Jeff replied, stifling a yawn. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"No, I d-d-don't," Brains told him. He took a sip of water, and a bit of the salad he'd taken. "How will they g-get there?"

Jeff sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll make arrangements for a car and someone to take them..."

"Dad?" Scott piped up quickly. "Do you think Alan would mind it if I were there with him? I mean, you've been flying back and forth a lot lately, which isn't good for you physically. Jet lag and all, you know. And frankly, I'd like to see him myself."

"So would I," Gordon added, nodding vigorously. "Wouldn't mind seeing Fermat in action at a quiz meet, either."

"I'd like to go, too," Virgil said, sitting up straight, a look of anticipation on his face.

"I could rent a car and be the one to take him and Fermat to their doctor's visit," Scott pressed. "Please, Dad. Let me go this time."

Jeff rolled his eyes at Scott's comment about the jet lag, but as the conversation progressed, he rubbed his right temple. He was getting a headache, one born of tension and – if he were honest with himself – lack of sleep. "Tell you what, Scott. You run it past Alan. If he's willing to take you in my place, then I'll consider it." He gave his eldest a bleary, baleful look. "However, don't push him. If he wants time to think about it, give it to him. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Scott grinned and snapped off a sharp salute.

Jeff drained what little was left of his iced tea, then rose from the table. "With that, I'm off."

"What about Virgil and me, Dad?" Gordon asked, turning to watch his father leave.

Jeff stretched and yawned, not bothering to stifle or hide it. "One at a time, Gordon. One at a time." He waved languidly at those in the dining room. "Since Scott thinks I'm suffering from exhaustion and jet lag, I'll be in my quarters, resting. Don't call me for anything less than a rescue."

"F-F-A-B," Brains responded as Jeff left.

xxxx

"I d-don't think so," Fermat said, shaking his head. "Other than the c-comment about the other k-kid, I don't r-r-r... recall them saying anything specific about y-you being... gay."

"Unless, of course, they said something to you before the recording started," Xavion said, glowering. He picked up a glass full of punch and drank it down.

"Not counting the comments Pierce made while he was working here," Dom offered.

Alan stopped pushing his food around on his plate and looked up at his friends. "I don't remember them saying anything like that before the recording started. But one thing my lawyer asked for was a list of people who heard those comments Pierce made."

"What good will that do?" Xavion asked, waving a speared forkful of cooked carrot pieces. He put the forkful into his mouth and chewed. When his mouth was nearly empty, he added, "Pierce pleaded guilty, didn't he?"

"Yeah, in my case and..." He paused, realizing he couldn't mention Erik's name. "...in the other case. But there's still sentencing to be carried out in. Since Mickey's the only one who said anything on the recording about the other kid being gay, Pierce is telling the police it wasn't a hate crime for him." Alan shook his head, frowning. "It's all such a mess."

"Do you think the police will be able to charge them for what they did to you, Dom? Or to you, Kay?" Jason asked between bites of dessert.

"I wouldn't mind if they'd confess to tearing up all my music and ripping my jacket," Qaeshon said, his expression sour. "Dad'd sue them for the cost of replacement. But I doubt that'll happen; it's just not as important as what happened to Alan and that other kid."

Dom shook his head. "I'd rather forget about the whole thing, really. It was scary at the time, but... it's over with, and I'm okay. I'm just glad that there won't be any more attacks."

There was a general murmur of agreement around the table, then A.J. spoke up. "So, when do they need this list, Alan?"

Alan shrugged. "As soon as possible, I guess. Email me with what you have, okay guys? I don't have paper and pencil with me and it'll be easier to keep track of what you send."

"Wh-What should we r-r-report?" Fermat asked, giving his friend a worried glance.

"I'm not sure. Date, time... who said it, what they said... that should cover it." Alan blew out a long frustrated breath. "I just wish this whole thing was over."

"It will be, Pinky," Xavion said, clapping a hand on Alan's shoulder. "You coming to breakfast with the team tomorrow?"

That brought a smile to Alan's face. "Yeah. I'll be there." He paused, then brightened. "Hey, my dad made a follow-up appointment for me with the doctor I saw at the hospital. You've got one, too, Fermat, at the same time. I might be cleared for track by the end of the week."

"And I m-might get rid of this d-d-d... blasted, itchy cast!" Fermat exclaimed with relief. "When's the appointment?"

"Thursday, after classes," Alan told him. He rose from the table, his meal half-finished. "Is everybody finished? I need to get my homework done."

There was a low-key chorus of "I'm done," "Coming," "Ready when you are," and Alan led the way to the tray return. Sable was there, ready to take the dishes and trays from them.

"Hey, how's it going, Blondie?"

"Good, Sable. Doing good." Alan handed her his tray, and gave her a sharp, two-fingered salute.

"Hey, Red." Sable reached out to take Jason's tray. "How's it hanging?"

Jason turned bright red again, but this time he had an answer. "Uh, a little to the left, Sable."

The kitchen worker stopped what she was doing mid-motion. Her jaw dropped open, her eyes widened, and then she laughed, long and loud. The others in the dishwashing area looked her way, wondering what was so funny. Jason stood still, eyes wide in astonishment at his success, and her reaction.

Finally, she gulped some air and said, "Oh, good one, Red! Real good! Didn't expect that!" She waved a gloved hand, and finished her task, still chuckling. "Go on!"

Jason, still stunned by her reaction, finally realized he was holding things up. "Uh, sure. See you around, Sable." Face flaming even redder than before, he fled, hurrying past the line of schoolmates, who were nudging each other and grinning as they watched him go.

He caught up with Alan in the foyer. "Oh God," he said, shaking his head. "I can't believe I said that."

"What in hell did you say to her?" Alan asked. When Jason shook his head even more, Alan turned to Fermat, who was grinning ear to ear as he came to meet them. "What did he say, Brain? I could hear Sable laughing from here!"

"He used one of K-Kay's lines," Fermat explained as the rest of the group gathered around them. "It seemed to be a h-h-h... success."

Kay grinned at Jason. "I bet she doesn't ask you that question again, though," he said.

"Yeah," Zave nudged Jason, a sly smile on his face. "Just watch. Next time, she'll ask you something more embarrassing."

_

* * *

When will Alan visit Sugi? Will Scott be there? What will Dr. Gupta say? Will Sable come up with a new question? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	59. Uncensored Comments

_Author's note: _Scott makes plans. Fermat asks a question. A teammate comments. Alan explains. Sable makes an offer. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy, print, or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan stopped by his room to get his homework, in particular his math book, while Fermat waited for him. A.J. had headed for the library after dinner, so Fermat's room would be a quiet place to study. Just as they were about to leave, Alan's phone rang. The jaunty tune that signaled who the caller was made Alan grin.

"It's Scott," he said as he tucked three books into his backpack and grabbed it by the handle. The two friends left, walking down the steps as Alan answered the call with a friendly, "Hey, Scott."

On the island, Scott sat back in Thunderbird One's cockpit. He was running a series of diagnostics on the improved camera fogger that Brains had installed, making sure it was functioning in harmony with the rest of the rocket plane's systems. "Hey, Sprout! How's it going up there?"

"I'm okay, Scott... and don't call me 'Sprout'." Alan's tone was more one of amusement than of annoyance. "Fermat and I are headed to his place to do some homework."

"Ah, that explains why there's no picture. Glad to hear you're cracking the books! Say 'hi' to Fermat for me."

Alan rolled his eyes and turned to his friend. "Scott says hello." He held the phone out in Fermat's general direction.

Fermat got close so he could be heard. "H-Hi, Scott!"

Alan took the phone back and put it to his ear, just in time to hear Scott laughing. "There you go." He took in a deep breath and let it out, saying, "So, where are the other guys? You don't usually phone me by yourself – you get Virge and Gords or John together and you all talk to me at once."

"Oh, true." Scott said, sounding distracted as he reached for a data pad to record some of the diagnostic results. He paused in what he was doing, and put down the pad. "Okay, Alan. I'll be honest. The other guys aren't here because I have an ulterior motive for calling."

"And what's that?" Alan sounded slightly sour.

"Well," Scott began, choosing his words carefully. "Dad mentioned at lunch today that you had a doctor's appointment coming up, and that you'd be seeing Lee Sugimoto soon. I was wondering... I know you want Dad out there, but would I do instead?"

Alan frowned. "You? Why do you want to come out here? Did Dad ask you to come?"

Sighing, Scott picked up the pad again, looking at it without really seeing it. "He didn't ask me to come; I suggested it and Dad told me I should run the idea past you first. If you still want Dad to come, that's okay, but... I'd like to see you, too. I could drive you to the doctor's appointment at least."

Alan's stride slowed even more than it had when he first started the conversation. "You want to see me? Here?" He sounded almost incredulous.

"Hell, yeah! I do! So do Virge and Gords, and John, when he's back on earth!" Scott grinned, even though his brother couldn't see him. "Dad says we have to go one at a time; might as well start at the top, right?"

Alan snorted a laugh. "Yeah, right. Sure. Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Scott." He sobered for a moment, turning over the offer in his mind. He visualized what it might be like seeing Sugi, and having Scott at his back. _I once thought they were kinda alike... but Scott's a better man than Sugi will ever be._

Scott noticed the pause, and added, "If you're not sure, give it some thought and get back to me. Just don't wait too long, okay? Brains hasn't come up with an instant teleportation device... yet."

"No, no, I think... yeah, I'd like you to come. Since I don't know when I'm going to see Sugi," here Fermat shot Alan a surprised and suspicious look, one that Alan didn't really notice, "Dad might not be able to spare you for that long. But it'd be good to see you, and to have family there when I go to the doctor."

By this time they'd arrived at Maplewood, and were climbing the stairs. Alan's focus turned to navigating the first few, and as a result, he missed a little bit of what Scott was saying.

"... send you an email with my flight plan, so you'll have an idea of when I arrive." Scott leaned back in the pilot's seat as far as it would let him go. "I'm looking forward to seeing you, Sprout. And Fermat, too. Tell him I want to see him kick butt in a quiz match!"

"I'll tell him. And... it'll be good to see you too, Scott," Alan said, a small smile spreading over his face. He paused at the top of Maplewood's steps. "Well, I gotta go. Have homework and stuff to do. Talk to you soon."

"Right. Next time we talk, it'll be face to face."

"Sounds good." Alan's smile widened. "Oh, and Scott?"

"Yeah, Sprout?"

"Don't call me 'Sprout'."

Scott laughed again. "Okay, okay. I'll try to remember. See you soon. Bye."

"Bye." The call disconnected, and Scott smiled, then put away his phone. He glanced at the data pad to find out where he'd stopped. _Better finish this up, let Dad know what Alan said, and file that flight plan._

Alan closed his phone, stuck it in his pocket, and sighed, a contented sound. "It was good to hear from him."

"Y-Yeah. I'm sure it w-was." Fermat's tone was quiet and flat, and he didn't look at Alan as they boarded the elevator for the third floor.

Alan frowned. _Sounds like I made him mad or something. Better find out more once we get to his room._

Fermat put his hand to the scanner and shuffled into the room, a concerned Alan following him. He flung himself into his desk chair as Alan put the backpack on the floor, and turned to face his friend arms folded across his chest. "Okay, what gives? What did I do to piss you off?"

Fermat took off his glasses, and polished them with a cloth, a delaying tactic that Alan was well familiar with. Finally, he squinted through each lens and put the glasses back on. "So," he began, his voice quiet, "when did you d-decide to s-s-s...visit Sugi?"

The question took Alan a bit by surprise. "This afternoon, after talking with the detective. She thinks that if I talk to him, maybe he'll let something slip and they'd know if he had anything to do with Erik's beating." The name slipped out before Alan could catch himself.

"Erik?" Fermat frowned, a thoughtful expression. "Your t-teammate Erik? He was the third v-victim?"

"Yeah, he was. I think you met him." Alan eased himself onto the edge of Fermat's bunk, using his hands to steady himself. "I was asked not to tell, but it sort of slipped out."

"D-Doesn't m-matter, really; it's probably all over the s-school by now." Fermat's voice took on a rueful tone, and he shook his head. "When were you g-going to tell us? _Were_ you going to t-tell us?" Implicit in his tone was the question, "Why didn't you tell _me_?"

"Yeah, I was going tell you, you and all the guys. When? Probably tomorrow sometime. I didn't know how to bring it up at dinner tonight. I was kinda more concerned about the whole 'did they attack me because I was gay' thing." Alan sighed. "Look, Fermat, I don't know when I'm going, and I still might not. The detective said I could pull out at any time. Scott knows because Dad mentioned it to him, and he called to ask if he could come out and back me up. So he'll be here for the doctor appointments on Thursday, and hopefully, when I talk to Sugi as well." Alan smiled, a wry expression. "He also says he wants to see you kick ass in a quiz meet."

"Hopefully I w-will," Fermat said, a wry tone to his voice. That tone dissolved quickly into one that showed his frustration and hurt. "It's just... you asked us f-for our opinions when you got that n-note. We all t-told you it was b-b-bad n-news to go see that b-b-b... s-s-son of a b-b-b... dog!" He shook his head, irked at his inability to spit out the words he wanted. "I kinda feel like wh-what was the use of t-t-telling you what we thought if you w-were going to throw it out the w-window."

"Fermat, I..." Alan spread his hands, his voice relaying his frustration. "Believe me, I took everything you and the guys said very seriously. I wasn't going to go. But there's a bigger picture here. I'm not the only one involved! And if I can help Erik by talking to the creep, I'm going to do it." He dropped his arms. "Besides, I have questions for him. I want to know why he got so angry at me, why he went so far as to beat me up." He took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry I didn't mention it sooner, but like I said, I had my mind on other things."

Nodding his head, Fermat gave Alan a slight smile. "I u-understand now. J-Just don't forget to t-tell the others, okay?" He raised an eyebrow, and his expression turned to a speculative one. "So, Scott'll b-be here to t-take us to the d-doctor's?"

"Yeah." A slow grin spread over Alan's face; he recognized both the tone and the expression. "What do you have in mind?"

"Oh, m-maybe we can talk him into some decent p-p-pizza for dinner."

"Or a trip to the mall and the food court there?" Alan suggested.

"Even b-better!" Fermat returned the grin, then pulled his math book out of his backpack. "Meanwhile, we have h-h-h... assignments to do."

"And we better get cracking, too!" Alan pulled his own book. "I don't have much time!"

xxxx

"Hey, Pinky!" Zave called as Alan left the food line with his tray. "Over here!"

Alan approached the table, noticing that most who were sitting there were his teammates. He found a seat beside Julio Estevez, who greeted him with a cheerful, "Hey, Alan!"

"Hey, Julio. How's it going?" Alan gave the other boy a grin before swigging a mouthful of juice.

"Pretty well, I guess. Coach is happy with my progress on the javelin, but I know I'm nowhere near as good as I have to be." Julio cut a wedge in his stack of pancakes, speared the layers with his fork, then crammed the wedge into his mouth. He chewed a bit, then talking around his food, asked, "When you gonna be back? We need the help!"

"I see the doctor tomorrow." Alan took a swig of juice and cut his sausage link with the edge of a fork. "I'm hoping to be back to practice next week."

"Hey, Zave, don't we have team pictures today?" John Carter, one of the alternates tapped when Sugi and Steve were expelled, called from his end of the table.

"Nah. That's Friday," Zave said. He paused to pour some more syrup on his pancakes. "Maybe Pinky here will be cleared for practice and able to be in the photo by then."

"With his face looking like that?" Carter said, giving Alan a speculative eye. "Don't think so, Zave."

The conversation died, and everyone's attention turned to Alan. Anger welled up in him, and Alan felt queasy, like he'd just been sucker-punched to the gut. He glared at Carter. "You should have seen it after they were done with me," he shot back, running his fingers lightly over his scabbed cheekbone, a sarcastic edge to his voice. "My face is no prize now, true, but it's a hundred percent better than what it was."

Carter subsided into embarrassed muttering, and the atmosphere at the table took on a strained and uncomfortable feel. Looking at his plate, Alan's nauseous feeling convinced him that he wasn't hungry anymore. He stood and took his tray. "Excuse me. I've got some homework to finish. See you later, Zave."

"Later, Alan," Zave replied with a nod.

As he walked away, Alan half-expected to hear the susurration of hushed conversation begin once his teammates thought he was out of earshot. Instead, there was the rumble of a familiar voice, Zave's, giving either a lecture or a low-key harangue; Alan couldn't make out which. Finally, he was truly out of earshot, and in line for the tray return.

Sable was on duty, and greeted him with a, "What's happening, Blondie?" She looked at his tray as she began to separate out the various items left on it. "Not hungry today?"

Her familiarity grated on him this time, but he settled for a simple, "Nah. See ya, Sable."

She gave him a sharp look, but he was already on his way out. "Later, Blondie."

Once out in the cool, gray morning, he stopped, and breathed in deeply. The feeling in his stomach eased a little, and putting his hands in his jacket pockets, he headed back to Birchwood. There were few students walking along the pathways, usually in pairs. Alan looked upward through the branches, suddenly realizing how many were bare. He watched as the sky lightened with the approach of dawn, obscuring the stars, overwhelming them one by one with the rising sun's light. He thought of John, in space where it never dawned, then of the island, always green with foliage, and a wave of homesickness washed over him.

_Wish I could go home, run away from all this crap, forget what happened. Everything's changed. Me and Fermat, me and the team... nothing's the same. Nothing will ever go back to what it was._ He sighed, his breath misting in the air before him. _Then again, that's what happened last spring, too. It was scary while it was happening, and I hated it. Hated the Hood; still do. But when it was over, things had changed... I had changed, and it wasn't all bad, either. _Bringing his gaze down, he looked across the dormitory quad as if really seeing it for the first time._ I guess when this whole business is over and done, the changes might not seem so bad after all._

xxxx

Despite the rocky start to the day, Alan found the rest of it to be soothingly routine. No unexpected summons, no stinging comments, only a few odd looks. The only class he felt like he was out of place in was strength training as Mr. Beccara wouldn't let him participate – not even allowing him to help his classmates. "Wait for that doctor's permission, Alan," he said when Alan approached him about it. "Then you can get back into the swing of things."

At lunch, under Fermat's watchful eye, Alan told the rest of his friends what his plans were. "She seems to think it would help this other kid if I talked to Sugi," he explained. "Otherwise, I wouldn't go. Hell, I still may not. It all depends."

"Depends on what?" Qaeshon asked. "Now that you've made the decision to go, what would keep you from going?"

"Yeah," Jason added around a forkful of slaw. "You're not exactly the type to back out of a deal."

Alan frowned for a moment, then began rubbing the back of his neck. "Good point, Kay, Jase." He blew out a breath and shook his head, bringing his hand back down to pick up his glass of milk. "I guess I'm pretty predictable, huh?"

"I dunno," Jason said. "You've surprised a few people around here this year." He forked up a mouthful of cake, and once he'd deposited the bite in his mouth, he waved the fork around. "Not us, though."

Alan snorted a laugh. "Right, sure." He sobered a bit, then added, "I just wanted you guys to know that I _did_ listen, and took what you said seriously."

"S'okay with me," Jason said as he continued eating. "Your decision to make, not mine."

"And we'd expect you to at least reconsider your decision when presented with new data," A.J. added.

The boys at the table glanced at each other, then all eyes focused on Fermat. "I do believe that the Brain is proving to be an influence on A.J. here," Qaeshon said, trying out a fake English accent.

Alan grinned. "Next thing you know he'll want to take over the world."

A slow, sly smile spread over A.J.'s face. "Well," he said, not looking at his companions, and cutting off a bite of cake with the edge of his fork. "I have to start _somewhere_."

He put the cake in his mouth during the brief, astonished pause that followed, and serenely chewed as his table mates sputtered, then broke out into full-fledged laughter. He swallowed the cake seconds before Jason, who sat next to him, slapped him between the shoulder blades.

"Oh, good one, A.J.! Good one!"

The laughter, and the knowledge that his friends were okay with his decision, made the rest of Alan's day easier.

After dinner, Sable greeted him with a speculative look, and a, "Hey, Blondie. You having your picture taken tomorrow?"

Surprised, Alan shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. All the freshmen and sophomores are."

She put his plate in the dishwasher rack. "You want some help with covering that up?" With her gloved hand, she indicated his cheek.

"What do you mean?" Alan raised his own hand, fingers brushing over the scabs that had formed.

Eying the line that was forming behind Alan, Sable sighed. "Listen, Blondie. I can help, but not right now. Talk to me in the morning."

"Okay, sure, Sable. In the morning." He turned and headed out, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What w-was that all about?" Fermat asked as he joined the waiting group in the lobby..

"I dunno." Alan shrugged. "I guess I'll find out tomorrow."

_

* * *

What does Sable want? When will Scott arrive? What will the doctor say? Will A.J. take over the world? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	60. Unfair Advantage

_Author's note: _Sable shows her solution. Alan makes a deal. Scott arrives. The doctor weighs in. Scott gives advice. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. And yes, MG, John Carter was named for Edgar Rice Burroughs's character.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this story without my consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Hey, Dom?"

"Yeah?"

Alan leaned up against the outside of the bathroom door. It was nearly time for lights out, and Dom was finishing up his nightly routine.

"You know how sophomores are getting pictures taken tomorrow?"

Dom sighed. "Yeah, I know. I've got to be there, remember?"

"Uh-huh." Alan followed Dom as the latter put his shoes away. "Well, I was wondering; what can be done about something like... uh... this?" He swirled a finger in the air just above his cheek.

"That? Oh, that's no problem," Dom said, pulling back his covers. "The photographers can touch that up in the lab. Make it look like it's not even there."

Alan sighed, relieved. "Whew! That's great. I was worried I'd have to... I dunno... wear make-up or something." He climbed to his bunk, and wriggled in between the sheets. "Good to know that I won't look like Frankenstein's monster in the yearbook." Settling in, he put his hands behind his head. "And after the doctor's appointment tomorrow, I might even be in the track team picture on Friday. Carter will eat his words when he finds out about the touch-up business."

"Whoa, wait a minute." Dom stuck his head out a little, looking up at Alan. "They might not be able to do that for the team picture. The image might be too small to work with."

Alan peeked over the edge, frowning at Dom just as the lights went out. "You mean I'll look like this in the team picture?"

"I think so." Dom's words were muffled by a yawn. "I'll ask, and let you know for sure."

With a sigh, Alan lay back down, hands above his head again. "Thanks, Dom. I appreciate it."

"No problem, Pinky. G'night."

"G'night." Alan sighed again before rolling over onto his side, leaving the battered cheek exposed.

xxxx

"So, what's this all about?" Alan asked. They were sitting in a quiet corner of the dining hall lobby; Sable was on a fifteen-minute break. He gave the black and white checkered case that she held a dubious look. "How can you help?"

"Well, Blondie, I've got the answer to your picture problems right here." Sable unlatched the case, and opened it. "I've done theater make-up..."

He groaned. "Make-up. I was afraid of that!"

"Hey, have an open mind here!" Sable was enthusiastic as she took out tubes and compacts. "I can make that scabby patch disappear!"

Alan grabbed her wrist, and leaned in, speaking in low tones. "Listen. I appreciate what you're trying to do here. But there are four reasons why I can't wear make-up... at least not today."

Sable disengaged her wrist, none too gently, and sat back, folding her arms. "So? What reasons, Blondie? And they better be good ones."

He blew out a breath and spread a hand. "Okay. All right. First of all, I'd have to wear it all day. Everyone would notice and I'd get teased about it."

"Not as much as you do with your face like that," she retorted.

"More!" He jabbed a finger at the damage. "People are used to this now." He looked around, to see who might be watching. "If they couldn't see it, they'd know why."

"So you get teased. You're a big boy; you can handle it... or can you?" Sable glanced at her watch. "Come on, Blondie. Don't got all day."

"Okay. All right. I talked with Dom Bertoli, the yearbook editor... he's my roommate, y'know. He told me that the photographers could get rid of it for me. Touch it up in my yearbook portrait." Alan held out both hands, fingers splayed wide, and shook them. "So, y'see, I don't really need it today."

"Today?" Sable gave him a sidelong look.

"Uh, yeah. I'll explain that in a minute," Alan assured her. "Third, I've got a doctor's appointment this afternoon before my pictures get taken. I'd have to wash it off for that. And that's _before_ my picture appointment."

She blew out a heavy breath, and jerked her head around in a half-nod, putting up a hand. "Okay, doctor's appointment. I'll give you that one. What's the last one?"

Alan bit his lower lip, and leaned in closer. "My oldest brother is coming today; he's going to take me to the doctor and might even stay the weekend. If he sees me with make-up on my face, he will tell my other brothers about it and I will never, ever, ever live it down. I will hear about it for the. Rest. Of. My. Miserable. Life."

"Brother, huh?" Sable rubbed her chin with a finger, and her tone turned speculative. "How old?"

The question brought Alan up short and he had to think. "Uh... twenty-five?" He thought a little more and nodded. "Yeah. He's twenty-five."

"Is he good-looking?"

Alan moved back a bit, and gave her an unbelieving look. He shook his head. "I dunno. He doesn't break any mirrors."

Sable's eyebrows went up, then she started laughing. Some of the students who were coming in for the regular breakfast shift glanced over at them, and Alan noticed. "Hey, can you lower the volume? People are looking at us!"

Her laughter wound down, though not as quickly as Alan would have liked. She began putting the tubes and compacts back in the case. "I gotta go. Last chance to change your mind."

"No thanks, not today." He stood, glancing around. "But... I might need it tomorrow."

Sable rose to her feet. "Why tomorrow?"

"Team pictures." At her puzzled expression, he explained. "If the doc says I can, I'll be back to playing sports... and I'll be able to have my picture taken with the track team. Dom says that they might not be able to touch those up – the image is too small. So, if we can meet up before practice..."

The puzzled expression dissolved into a calculating one. "Well, if I can meet this brother of yours..."

A quick vision of an uncomfortable Scott meeting Sable made him grin. "Deal." He glanced at his watch. "I'll let you know for sure tomorrow."

"I get to meet him regardless?"

Alan chuckled and held out his hand. "Yeah."

"Wicked." Sable spit into her own, and took his. "See ya later, Blondie."

"Right. Later."

She left, moving quickly towards a door at the far end of the lobby. Alan sighed, and headed for the restroom to wash his hands.

xxxx

Fermat hunched down into his jacket, and wished, for the first time that school year, that he'd worn a hat. The morning breeze was cold and he could feel the tips of his nose and ears becoming numb. All around him, the grass was covered with crisp frost, and the few bare spots looked hard and frozen. He had one hand jammed deeply in a pocket, and he shifted uncomfortably. The coat he'd chosen was warmer, but not as roomy as his usual one and there wasn't as much space for the cast. _I hope I get this thing off today. It'll be great to shower and get dressed without the cast in the way... or this stupid itching distracting me!_

"Well, fall certainly is here," A.J. said, gazing around in the gray morning light. "Getting a bit nippy."

"N-Nippy isn't the word I'd use," Fermat grumbled, trying to hitch his collar up further – a difficult task with one hand. "Let's m-move a little f-faster, please. I'd like to get into the w-warm."

A.J. chuckled, and matched Fermat's increased pace.

The number of students heading for the dining hall grew as they got closer, slowing their progress. It took only a few minutes to get into the relative warmth of the lobby, but during the short waits, Fermat shifted from one foot to the other, impatient.

"Hey, there's Alan!" A.J. said, pointing in the direction of the restroom and waving.

Fermat glanced over to see Alan heading toward them, smiling. "Hey, Fermat, A.J. How's it going?"

"I think it's a bit nippy out," A.J. said. He jerked his head toward his roommate. "But Mr. I-live-on-a -tropical-island here thinks it's freezing."

"Hey! I'm with the Brain this time!" Alan showed his support by shivering expressively. "It was damn cold this morning."

"You eating w-with us?" Fermat asked, his tone hopeful.

Alan shook his head. "Nah. I had breakfast with the team already. Sorry."

"S'okay." Fermat lifted a shoulder briefly, then straightened. "Hey, wh-when do we see the d-doctor today?"

"Appointment's at four-thirty. Scott emailed me; said he'd be here at four." Alan shrugged into his coat. "We're to meet him at the admin building."

"Four? Th-That's when I'm supposed to have my p-picture taken."

"Damn. Mine isn't scheduled until six." Alan frowned, looking thoughtful. "If you see Dom, ask if you can reschedule. You'll want the cast off for the picture anyway, right?" He glanced at his watch, and headed for the door. "Gotta go! See you in math!"

"B-But..." Fermat's call trailed off as Alan pressed through the crowd and out the door. He shook his head and sighed heavily "N-No one consulted me about this d-doctor's appointment."

"Sounds like Alan wasn't consulted either," A.J. said, shrugging.

"T-True. But there's a good chance he'll m-make his photo appointment. No way I'll m-make mine."

"Then I guess you'll have to talk to Dom." By this time, they'd come to the serving line, and A.J. fished trays out of the stack for himself and for Fermat. "Hopefully we'll see him at breakfast."

Dom, however, was nowhere to be seen during breakfast. Fermat frowned. "I g-guess I'd b-better try and get there early; see if they can f-fit me in then."

"That's a good idea, Brain," Kay said, nodding. "Otherwise you'll have to wait for the make-up date."

xxxx

Classes couldn't have gone slower for Alan. The clocks seemed to be in a time warp; every time he glanced at them, they seemed to have changed only a minute or two from the last time he'd looked. Mr. Graboski called him to attention during Math, and even Mr. Beccara noticed his fidgeting in Strength Training.

"What's up, Alan?"

Alan gave him a sheepish grin. "Doctor's appointment today."

"Ah!" Mr. Beccara gave a wise, understanding nod. "I see. Right now, though, I think Tony needs you to help him keep count."

"Yes, sir." Alan blew out a relieved breath and returned to his task.

Dom was at lunch, but didn't sit with their little group. He sat as close to the doors as he could, and bolted the moment his lunch was finished. Qaeshon shook his head.

"This time of year's rough on the editor," he said. "Trying to schedule all the pictures, making sure people show up... then he'll be out and about with the school's camera, taking pictures of the events."

"Is he the only one who does this?" A.J. put down his fork, and gave Kay a thoughtful look. "I mean, you're on the staff too, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am, and I'll be doing some photography, too." Kay took a sip of punch, then wiped his lip. "But my duties will be more layout, writing, and getting things ready to send to the printer. We've started on that a little bit, but it's not heavy yet." He sighed, then speared a piece of grilled chicken. "Choosing a theme and deciding who to dedicate the book to is the hard part."

"Who gets to do that, anyway?" Alan asked, picking up his glass to take a swallow. When he'd finished, he put it down again. "I mean, nobody asks us students."

"The faculty advisor and the staff make the call." Kay reached for his napkin. "We haven't yet, but even if we had, I couldn't tell you. It's supposed to be a secret until the presentation."

"I g-guess I'll have to go with p-plan B, then," Fermat said, finishing his dessert. He glanced over at Alan. "Tell S-Scott I might be a little late meeting him."

Alan frowned. "Dude, we have an appointment..."

"I know." Fermat said firmly. He stood and picked up his tray. "But I have a p-previous appointment as well, and I'm not going to m-miss it without at least making a stab at r-rescheduling." He gave Alan a pointed look. "You might be a-a-a... you might make _your_ appointment – but only if we forgo the f-food court." With that he walked off, balancing the tray in his good hand with the fingers of his still casted one.

"What's with him?" Alan asked of A.J. "He's been awfully grumpy lately."

A.J. shrugged. "I dunno. He did say that no one had consulted him on this appointment you've got... he seemed put out about it."

"No one consulted me either," Alan replied, a sour look on his face as he picked up his own tray and followed Fermat.

A.J. caught up to him. "I told him that. It didn't seem to help."

Alan snorted and shook his head. "I guess I'll have to talk to him again."

xxxx

When his literature class ended, Alan was first out the door and down the stairs. He sprinted across the main quad, dodging through the thickening crowd of relieved fellow students. He cut through the Student Center, and made a beeline for his dorm across the dormitory quad, scattering the few leaves that had fallen after the groundskeepers made their rounds. He took the steps to Birchwood two at a time, and was breathing fairly heavily by the time he reached his room. Dom wasn't there; Alan hadn't expected him to be, really. He slung his backpack under his desk, and made quick work of changing into street clothes.

By contrast, Fermat went straight to the yearbook office upon release from his Chemistry class. There were two students in line, and a third was being photographed. Fermat ducked around those in line, earning himself a glare or two, and approached Dom, who sat at a table, a laptop in front of him.

"Uh, D-Dom?"

The yearbook editor looked up and gave Fermat a harried smile. "You're early, Fermat."

"I know." Fermat fidgeted then blurted out, "Can I r-r-r... make another appointment?"

"Why?" Dom asked, frowning.

With a sigh, Fermat explained. "I have a d-doctor's appointment at four-thirty and I'm s-supposed to meet my ride at f-four." His expression turned sour. "N-No one exactly consulted me when they m-made the appointment."

"I see," Dom said with a sigh. He turned to the computer, and began to type. "Okay. I'm going to reschedule for you on make-up day, which is Wednesday of next week. Six-thirty. Make sure you're there, okay?" The printer beside him started up, and when the page was finished, he handed it to Fermat. "Here's the confirmation. You should get an email reminder, too – if the system's working the way it should. It's been giving us fits this year."

Fermat smiled in relief. "Thanks, Dom. Hopefully I'm g-getting my c-cast off today, so my picture will look more natural."

Dom returned the smile. "I hope things go well with the appointment." The photographer took that moment to approach him, and he turned, effectively dismissing Fermat.

Looking at his watch, Fermat muttered a curse under his breath and left. He had to decide whether or not to risk being late for the appointment and changing clothes, or heading straight to the administration building from there. _Better not risk it_, he thought. _The admin building it is_.

xxxx

Scott sat in one of the comfortable chairs in the administration building's lobby, reading a local newspaper he'd bought at the hotel. He scanned the pages, looking for any reference to Alan and the attack, but there didn't seem to be anything. He hadn't given the local coverage much thought until now. As he turned the page and shook the paper out for easy reading, he decided to rectify that oversight. _John probably has all that stuff earmarked for retrieval. I'll check with him later._

He was deep into the funnies when his ears picked up the slight scuff of rubberized shoe sole on carpet. He smiled and, without turning around, said, "Hey, Alan."

Alan's mouth dropped open and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Then he snorted a breath, folded his arms and asked, in a peeved and sarcastic voice, "Just _how_ did you know it was me?"

Scott grinned, folding up his paper neatly before standing to face his brother. "Well, let's just say you haven't gotten the 'sneaking around silently' down pat yet. Need a few more lessons." He chuckled, and put out a hand. "Good to see you, kiddo."

Alan rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. "That's not much of an improvement over 'Sprout'." Then he broke into a grin and took his brother's hand. "Good to see you too... old timer."

"Old timer?" Scott's response was one of amused indignation. He used his grasp on Alan to suddenly pull the boy to him, then he wrapped his other arm loosely around his brother's neck. Letting go Alan's hand, he brought his knuckles up to rub them across the blond hair.

"Hey! No noogies! Watch the hair!" Alan's protests filled the quiet waiting area, and brought Mrs. Belvedere's secretary out of her office.

"Mr. Tracy!" she called sharply.

"Yes, ma'am?" Two voices responded in unison, and Scott stopped his play, letting go of Alan.

Seeing that the elder of the two had likely been the instigator, she sniffed. "Please take it outside, gentlemen. It's still working hours here."

"Yes, ma'am," came the dual response again. Sighing, the secretary shook her head, and returned to her office.

Scott turned and glanced around. "Where's Fermat?" His gaze dropped to his watch. "We're going to be late..."

"He had to get his picture taken..." Alan's explanation trailed off as Fermat, huffing a little, hurried into the waiting area.

"S-Sorry I'm late," he said. "Had to r-r-reschedule a conflicting appointment."

"Well, I'm glad you're here." Scott clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "So let's get on the road."

xxxx

Again, Scott found himself in a waiting room, reading the rest of the paper. When he'd read everything that interested him and caught up with the sports scores, he folded it up and put it on the small table beside him. He was the only one left in the waiting room now, the parents of the few, mostly school-aged children who sat in the waiting room with him had gone into the examining rooms with their progeny and office hours were coming to a close. Bored with waiting, he looked around for more reading material. The headline of a weekly magazine caught his eye: "Sports and Steroids: What Are They Doing To Our Youngest Athletes". He frowned; something about the title made him suspicious, and he picked up the magazine. Opening it to the proper page, he scanned the columns of text to find what he'd feared.

"The recent events at Wharton Academy, culminating with the beating of two students by steroid-using athletes, shows how deeply entrenched the culture of 'win at any cost' has become in our schools."

"At least they didn't mention Alan by name," he muttered, settling back to read the article in depth.

Once distracted, it seemed like only a few moments until he heard Alan's voice. "Hey, Scott?"

He looked up to see both Alan and Fermat standing before him. "Ah, there you are. How'd it go?"

Fermat grinned and held up his arm, now devoid of cast. "G-Great! My arm's all h-healed!"

Scott rose and clapped Fermat on the shoulder. "Way to go, sport!" He started for the check-out desk and turned his attention to his brother. "What about you?"

Alan sighed. "I'm cleared for everything but javelin. The shoulder's still a bit sore." He brightened. "I can get back into strength training though, as long as I take it slowly. That will build the shoulder back up."

"Sounds like good news to me!" Scott stopped at the window, and signed the papers that were pushed at him, taking responsibility for the bill in his father's absence. "How about we celebrate with some food?"

"What t-time is it?" Fermat asked, glancing at his watch. "Alan has an a-appointment at six."

Alan shot a glare at Fermat as Scott turned to him. "An appointment?"

"Yeah," Alan admitted, his voice sullen. "School photographer."

Scott finished his business at the check-out window, and herded the two boys out to the parking lot. They climbed into the sporty car that he'd rented, and once they were on the road, he asked, "Why didn't you say something before this?"

"It's no big deal, Scott. I can reschedule it for later." Alan glanced at Fermat, who was in the back seat. "Fermat did." He turned back to his brother. "Really, Scott. It's not a big deal."

Scott frowned. "Still, if you can make the appointment, you should. Is it okay to bring pizza on campus? Where could we eat it if we did? That little snack shop place? What do you say?"

"I was hoping to go to the food court at the mall." Alan's frustration was plain to see and hear.

"S-So was I, actually," Fermat added.

However, Scott had made up his mind.

"We can do that tomorrow night." He handed his phone to Alan. "Find a pizza place on the GPS and give them a call. We'll pick it up on our way back to campus." He called back to Fermat. "Is that okay with you, sport?"

"Y-Yeah, it is." Fermat was torn between a certain smugness at Scott putting Alan in his place, and disappointment that he wouldn't be able to eat at the food court the next evening.

Alan sighed, and went looking for the place Wharton ordered pizza from, then made his call.

xxxx

An hour and two large pizzas later, Scott and Fermat sat in the snack shop, waiting for Alan to return. Scott watched the boy over the rim of his plastic cup. Fermat slurped his milkshake noisily, getting to the bottom and finishing it with a smack of his lips.

"So, how are things going for you, Fermat?" Scott asked. He took a pull on his own straw. "Bet it feels good to get rid of that cast."

"Y-Yeah, it does." Fermat surveyed the pizza, trying to decide if he wanted another piece. "My arm looks f-f-f... odd, though."

"Yeah, that usually happens. It'll pass." Scott shifted in his chair a little. It wasn't usually this hard for him to talk to Fermat, but then, he realized, he'd never had a conversation of any depth with the boy. It was always light teasing and goofing around. But there was something he'd noticed between his brother and Fermat, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, and it made him uncomfortable. "How are things going with the new roommate?" was all he could think of asking.

Fermat shrugged. "He's o-okay. We had a r-rocky start but it got b-better."

There was an awkward pause, and Scott ventured, "Are you enjoying the academic quizzing? I saw you when Dad was here last; man, you kicked butt!"

The boy grinned. "Quizzing is g-great! I've got an a-away game tomorrow."

"Away game? Damn!" Scott snapped his fingers. "I was hoping to see you in action while I was here. And you won't be able to go to the mall either. That sucks!"

"Yeah, it does, but I can go n-next time."

The pause was back, and finally Scott decided to be direct. "Y'know, I might be imagining this, but is everything okay between you and the Sprout? You seem to be – I dunno – mad at each other."

Fermat sighed, making a sour face. "It's not really that I'm mad at him, it's j-just... he's got other th-things to do. Other f-friends. We d-don't spend as much t-time together as we used to." He blew out a long breath. "It b-bugs me."

Scott nodded slowly as Fermat spoke. He took a long pull on the straw, trying to get his thoughts in order. Then he put the cup down on the table. "Listen, Fermat. I can see how this'd bug you. It bugged me a lot when I was growing up and my friends from school started moving in different circles than I did. When John and Virgil started having lives that I had very little part in." He leaned forward. "But that's what happens when you grow up. You're going to make other friends and, little by little, you and Alan will make your own lives. You'll stay friends, sure, but it'll be different." Sighing a little, he gave Fermat a smile. "It doesn't make things any easier when it's happening, but maybe... maybe you need to branch out on your own a little, too."

While Scott was speaking, Fermat looked down at his newly-liberated hand, rubbing it absently. But at Scott's final suggestion, he glanced up, a slight frown behind the glasses. "You think so?"

"Yeah." Scott nodded again. "I do."

xxxx

Alan took a deep breath of the chilly evening air as he took the steps to Birchwood two at a time. He let it out in a satisfied sigh. Even if he hadn't been able to get to the mall, he'd been able to spend some quality time with his brother, had gotten the portrait taking out of the way, and most importantly, been cleared for track. He whistled the tune that he'd put on his phone to represent Scott; at some point he and Gordon had memorized it and tormented Scott with it until their dad had put the kibosh on their joke.

A very tired Dom was already in the sweats and t-shirt that he wore to bed when Alan walked in. "Hey, Dom. How'd the day go?"

"It's over, and that's what matters. One more day of photos, then I can breathe for a little bit." Dom pulled back his covers. "What did the doctor say?"

"I'm clear for track – except for javelin." Alan hung up his jacket, and put his shoes in the closet. "Fermat got his cast off, too."

"Sounds good." Dom smothered a yawn, and checked his alarm clock. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Right."

Alan took himself off to the bathroom, deciding on a shower before bed. He took a good look at himself in the mirror beforehand. The bruises had faded, the cut over his eye was a slim pink mark, and his lip was good as new. He ran his fingertips over his cheek; he still had some scabbed areas there, but most of the wounds were the dark pink of healing skin.

He showered, running soap over his legs and feeling the knobby scars on his knees. Dr. Gupta had been pleased with the way they'd healed from both Trey's tackle and what had transpired in the Hollow.

By the time he'd finished getting ready for bed, it was nearly time for lights out. Dom was already fast asleep, his back turned resolutely away from the lights that still shone in the room. Alan circled around to the end of the bunk, then pulled up short. His eyes strayed to the far corner of the room, near the door, and he grinned.

Hurrying over to that corner, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He shook his arms and legs to loosen them, all the while keeping his eyes on his target. Then, with another deep breath, he ran across the room and propelled himself into the air... just as the lights went out.

There was a thump, the creak of wood rubbing against wood, then from the vicinity of the ceiling came a sibilant, jubilant whisper.

"Yesss!"

_

* * *

How will Scott react to Sable? Will Fermat branch out? How will Alan do at practice? Will A.J. take over the world? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	61. Uncalculated Response

_Author's note: _Alan checks in, and becomes official. Fermat branches out, and is reminded of a few facts. Sable paints a face. Scott is introduced. Alan gets a call. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. .

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan could hardly wait until breakfast was over. When he took his tray up, Sable asked, "Are we on?"

"Yeah," he told her. "The gym at three thirty."

"I'll be there, Blondie, but don't forget your part of the bargain."

"Don't worry; I won't," he promised as he hurried from the room.

He presented himself at Coach Evans's office ten minutes later, dressed for the morning run.

"Do you have something for me, Alan?" Coach asked, smiling slightly.

Alan was almost bouncing in anticipation. "Yes, sir!" He took a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. "Here it is, Coach. I'm cleared for everything but javelin."

Coach Evans read through the document, then looked up sharply. "Why not javelin?"

Alan gave a little shrug. "My shoulder's still a bit sore. I've got instructions and exercises to strengthen it, and he wants to see me back again in two weeks."

"Hm. In this case, Alan, I think I'm going to drop you from javelin altogether." He opened a drawer and put the paper in a file folder. "I can't wait for your shoulder to be cleared for it; Estevez will have to take the forward position on it."

"I understand, sir," Alan said, nodding.

"Well then, Tracy, get out there." Coach made a shooing motion with his hand. Alan grinned, and turned to go but stopped when Coach added, "See me after the run about your uniforms."

"Yes, _sir_!" Alan gave the coach a jaunty salute, and left the office, heading out to where the rest of the team was gathered.

xxxx

Fermat straightened his shoulders as he approached the table. He'd gotten up a little early and showered, paying special attention to his now uncovered arm. A good scrub, then a layer of the moisturizing cream the doctor had given him, and his dried out skin felt much better. The arm was still a few shades lighter than the other, and looked skinnier, but he planned on rectifying the second by making time to visit the weight room. He'd also left early, hoping to put into practice what Scott had mentioned to him the day before.

It felt good to put his arm into his warmer jacket's sleeve, and hold his breakfast tray in both hands. He spotted a couple of his teammates, Robbie and Aaron, sitting together. "Now or never," he muttered as he came up beside them.

"D-Do you mind if I, uh, j-joined you?"

Aaron and Robbie exchanged glances. Aaron shrugged and Robbie looked up at Fermat with a smile. "We don' mind. C'mon and sit with us."

As Fermat put his tray next to Robbie's, Aaron said, "I see you got rid of the cast. When did that happen?"

"Yesterday a-afternoon," Fermat said as he sat down. "Feels good to have my arm b-back again." He started eating, happy he could cut his thick French toast up on his own.

Aaron studied him for a moment, drinking his orange juice as he did so. Finally, when Fermat had finished chewing, he asked, "Why?"

Fermat looked up at him, a puzzled look on his face. "Why wh-what?"

"Why are you sitting with us?" Aaron draped an arm over the back of his chair, tilting it back slightly. "Have a falling out with Tracy?"

Robbie looked from one boy to the other, confused. Fermat took a sip of milk, and wiped his mouth.

"N-No, no falling out. It's just that I feel I should... b-branch out. Make new friends." He smiled. "Who better to start with than my t-teammates."

"Really? What about your old friends?" Aaron hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing it in the general direction of the table where Fermat usually sat.

"I can e-eat lunch with them." Fermat took a drink of milk. "But we quizzers have got to stick t-together."

Robbie's eyes widened, and he slapped a hand down on the table. "Hey! I got an idea!" he said, his tone enthusiastic. "The sports teams eat breakfast together, right?"

Aaron nodded. "Yeah. So?"

"So, why shouldn't we?" The freshman looked eagerly from Aaron to Fermat and back again. "It'd make us feel more like a team. Kinda like when we eat after away games." He turned his gaze back to Fermat. "What d'you think?"

"I l-like the idea." Fermat waved his fork, a piece of French toast stuck on the end, at Aaron. "W-We wouldn't have to d-do it every day, or for e-every meal. Maybe we could eat d-dinner together on practice days, and b-breakfast together when we have our m-m-m... competitions. Or s-something like that." He popped the piece in his mouth, and chewed, washing it down with milk.

Aaron shrugged. "I guess so. You can bring it up tonight if you want." He brought his chair back down to sit securely on the floor. "Just don't ask me to endorse the idea. It's all yours." Standing, he picked up his still half-filled tray. "See you tonight."

The other two responded in kind, and he sauntered off. Fermat glanced over at his companion. "What's w-wrong with him?"

"I dunno," Robbie said, shaking his head. "I mean, he's not th' most outgoin' of people but I never seen him act like that."

"Do you eat t-together often?" Fermat poured a little more syrup on his meal.

"We usually eat breakfast together." Robbie shrugged and drank some more milk. "Rest of th' day, I don' know where he sits."

"Hm." Fermat looked thoughtful for a moment. He felt uneasy, but couldn't put his finger on why. Then he sighed, and brightened. "S-So, what classes do you have this y-year?"

Robbie chuckled. "Well, I got Miz Gerrick for math..."

"G-Gerrick?" Fermat made a face. "I had _her_ l-last year..."

xxxx

Alan found himself slightly winded by the end of the run, and resolved to start running between classroom buildings – but not in the halls, as that was frowned on. He stopped in at the Coach's office after changing clothes.

"Here, Alan." Coach Evans took out a gym bag with the Wharton crest on it, and the name A. Tracy embroidered near the zippered opening. "I've got to take everything out and check it, then you'll sign for it and the cost will be added to your account. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Alan was bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. The coach smiled, and handed him a data pad and stylus.

"Two white sleeveless shirts for home games, number 25, with matching shorts..."

The list was fairly lengthy and included warm-up jackets and pants, skin-tight thermal shirts and leggings for cold days, away game clothing in Wharton blue, and even matching socks. Alan shivered with delight at seeing his name emblazoned on the backs of the shirts and jackets. When the list was completed, and everything had been checked off, he signed the pad and handed it back. The coach went over it once for good measure, then put the pad aside.

"Everything is marked as yours so it won't get mixed up with anyone else's – we hope. The school's laundry will clean them for you; just be sure you get them out in the first laundry pick up after a game." Coach Evans extended a hand, and Alan took it. "Now, you're official. Make sure you're at practice this afternoon." They shook hands, then the coach went back to his desk. Before sitting down, he asked, "Oh, about tomorrow's game. You're not going to be able to compete, but if you can come handle the equipment, or ride the bus to the game..."

Alan opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and thought a moment. "Would it count against me if I didn't go at all? My brother is here from out of town.."

"Hm." Coach Evans looked thoughtful as he sat down. "I guess it wouldn't hurt for you to miss this meet, especially considering you have family in." He nodded. "Go ahead and have fun with your brother. But next week, be prepared to compete!"

"Yes, sir!" Alan grinned. He slung the gym bag across his chest, and tucked it behind him. With the strap let out to its longest length, it fit nicely under his backpack.

"You'd better move it if you want to make class on time." The coach motioned toward the door with his head. "See you this afternoon, Alan."

"Right!" Alan turned to go, giving a wave as he sprinted from the office. His heavy, running footsteps echoed through the empty gym, then there was a bang as he hit the door with his hip on the way out.

He arrived at math class just as the bell rang, sweaty and breathing heavily. He whispered a quick, "Hey!" at Fermat as he sat down, and got an equally soft, "Hi, Alan!" in return. Then class began, and Alan turned his attention toward Mr. Graboski.

xxxx

"So, why didn't you sit with us this morning, Brain?" Kay asked, not looking in Fermat's direction.

Alan put down his cheeseburger and shot a glance at Fermat. He opened his mouth to say something, but Fermat chose that moment to answer Qaeshon's question.

"I thought I m-might sit with one of my t-teammates," Fermat responded, frowning. "Do I need your p-permission to do that?"

"No," Kay responded coolly. "You don't. But not everyone will see your butting in on their breakfast as a friendly thing."

Fermat's frown had become a scowl, and the French fry that had been heading toward his mouth stopped midway. "What do you m-mean by that?"

"Aaron Blanding's in my lit class second period and he asked me why you'd want to sit with him." Qaeshon stopped to take a swallow of fruit punch, then wiped his lips with a napkin before continuing. "He asked if you had, and I quote, an 'ulterior motive'."

"What kind of 'u-ulterior motive'?" Fermat now sounded suspicious and a bit confused.

Jason intervened, speaking softly. "Fermat, that rumor might not be out there in your face, but it hasn't died, either." He turned toward Qaeshon. "Am I right, Kay?"

Kay nodded. "Yeah. You are."

Fermat's eyes opened wide. "You m-mean, he thinks I'm h-h-h... interested in him... _that_ way?"

"That's what he was getting at." Qaeshon blew out a breath, and his demeanor changed. "Listen, Brain. It's okay that you sit with people other than us, but you have to be careful. A lot of people have heard this rumor and they're still talking about it, quietly." He grimaced. "It's hard to prove a negative, y'know what I mean?"

Alan, who had been surprised at both Fermat's action and his defensiveness, now dropped his jaw at Qaeshon and Jason's statements. Closing his mouth, he sighed heavily and shook his head. "Man, I thought we were all over that! I thought everyone knew Sugi had started that stupid rumor and..."

Jason cut him off. "Only a few people – other than us - even _think_ that Sugi started it; no one really _knows_, Alan. It's not like he's taken out a page in the school newspaper and admitted it to the world. And even if he did, there'd still be people who'd rather believe the rumor for whatever reason. Sugi still has friends on campus, and though they won't come after you the way he did, they won't be so quick to forget either."

"Is Aaron one of Sugi's friends?" A.J., who'd been listening in, asked.

Qaeshon shrugged. "Who knows?. I don't think Aaron's been involved in the same kinds of sports Sugi was. But they may have known each other... or they might have been total strangers. The point is that the rumor is still out there. Maybe not being whipped up by Sugi and his pals, but it's not dead yet, and won't be for months – if it ever dies at all."

The boys at the table fell silent for a long time, until Alan finished his burger and asked, "So, why did you sit with Blanding this morning, Fermat?"

Fermat finished chewing on his last French fry, and said, "It wasn't j-just Aaron; R-Robbie Bennett was there, t-too. They're my t-teammates; I thought I should get to know them b-better outside of qu-quizzing."

Alan stopped to think about that for a moment, then nodded. "It... sounds like a good idea. I mean, I'm getting in thick with the team and all..."

"Speaking of the team," Jason cut in again, "what did the doctor say?"

Alan grinned, and proceeded to tell his friends all the good news.

xxxx

"Hey, Blondie!"

Alan turned at Sable's call. He was already in uniform, and waiting outside the gym. "Hi, Sable." He eyed the case again, this time with interest. "They're taking pictures of the table tennis team right now, then the soccer team, so we've got a few minutes."

"Wicked," Sable said, pulling him toward a bench around the corner from the gym door; one that sat in the bright afternoon sunlight. "Need a place to put things down, and since I can't do this in the photographer's lighting set up, the sun'll have to do."

She put the case down and opened it, taking out a clear piece of thin plastic. "I'm used to working with heavy stuff, lots of contrast, but I think I can go more subtle for you." She held the plastic up to his face, close to the cheek. "You sure have a good tan, Blondie." Looking at the plastic, she noted where the squares of color seemed to blend in with Alan's skin, and nodded. "Yeah. I know just what we need."

"Good!" Alan was beginning to fidget. "How long will this take?"

Sable took out a tube and gave him quelling look. "You don't rush the artist, okay, Blondie?" As she squeezed out a bit of brownish goo onto her fingers, she asked, "So, where's this brother of yours?"

"He'll be here soon," Alan assured her. "He's going to watch the practice."

"Cool." Sable dabbed a little of the smooth cream on his cheek and critically studied it. "Wrong color." With a cotton pad, she removed the bit of make up and rifled through her other tubes until she found one she thought would work. "Let's try this."

Alan forced himself to stand still as she dotted a bit of this color on his cheek. She made an approving hum, and nodded, then smeared a bit more on his face. Using her fingers, she smoothed it over his scabs and scars.

"Got to build this up so that the edges don't show," she explained as she added to the patch. Alan wanted to nod, but didn't. The stuff felt heavy, like the topical antibiotics had when he was still bandaging the cheek, and smelled waxy. Her fingers were warm and gentle, moving smoothly over the bumpy spots. He was surprised to realize that he was taller than her, and he noticed the light roots of her dark hair as he kept his face still.

"Okay. I think I got enough on there." Sable took hold of his chin and made him turn his head one way, then the other. "Yeah. Looks good. Now to take the shine off, and you're good to go, Blondie." She pulled out a powder compact, opened it, compared it to his face, then shook her head and tossed it back in. Grabbing a new one, she squinted a bit from his cheek to the compact. "Yeah. This'll work."

Rubbing a wide brush into the compact, she gently stroked on the powder. The brush tickled and Alan was sure a few grains of the powder had gotten up his nose; he felt a strong urge to sneeze. He held it in with difficulty until she was done.

"There. That should do." Sable turned to get a mirror, and Alan let go with his sneeze.

"Ouch!" she said, holding up the mirror. "That sounded like it hurt!"

Alan rubbed across his nostrils with a finger. "Nah, it's okay." He moved his face so he could see the cheek, resisting the urge to run his fingers over the fresh make up. "Hey, that's great, Sable," he said, smiling. "It's like there were never any scars at all."

"Glad you like it, Blondie." Sable tucked the mirror back in her case. "Now, where's that brother of yours?"

Almost as if on cue, someone called out. "Alan?"

"Damn! I didn't want him to see me like this!" Alan hurried over to the gym doors nearest them. They were locked. "Great! He's gonna..."

Scott rounded the corner. "Alan, someone said you were..." He stopped in his tracks, and looked from Sable to his brother and back again. "Uh, someone want to tell me what's going on?"

"Ah... um... yeah." Alan said, trying to keep the damaged cheek from his brother's view. "Scott, this is Sable. She... uh... works here." He made a motion towards Scott. "Sable, my oldest brother, Scott."

Scott's eyes flicked from one to the other; he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't tell me what's going on."

Sable, on the other hand, was examining Scott with interest. Her eyes traveled up his form then down again. "Don't worry, hot shot, nothing illegal or immoral's going down. I was just giving your brother a few... tips." She stepped forward, holding out a hand. "Sable de la Croix."

"Scott Tracy. Nice to meet you." Scott dropped his belligerent stance and shook her hand., but again his gaze went from Sable to Alan and back again. "What kind of tips?"

"Uh, just photography tips," Alan said, moving toward the front of the gym. "I gotta go; they'll be taking our pictures any minute."

He tried to pass by Scott on the side where his brother would be less likely to see Sable's handiwork, but Scott had sharp eyes. He grabbed Alan by the arm. "Wait a minute. Something's weird here..." He grabbed Alan's chin with one hand, and despite the teen's attempt to stop him, angled Alan's face so he could see the cheek. "Uh huh," he said with a grin. "Right. You sure they weren't cosmetic tips?"

Alan sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Okay, okay. Sable offered to help me hide this mess for the camera, all right? The photographers can retouch my portrait, but not the team pic. I'm washing it off as soon as they're done."

"Well, if you're washing it off, Blondie..." Sable rifled through her case once again, and came up with a small jar of cold cream. "You'll need this."

"Thanks." Alan took it with a heavy sigh. He wished he could wipe the mischievous grin off his brother's face. "I'll be back soon."

"Wait a minute, Sprout." Scott had his phone out, and was pointing the internal camera in Alan's direction. "Since you're doing this for the camera..."

"No! Absolutely not!" Alan held a hand up before the camera lens, but not before Scott got his picture.

"What d'you think?" Scott asked of Sable, motioning her to his side and showing her what he'd caught.

"Hey, not bad." Sable looked from Alan to the photo and back again. "Yeah. I do good work."

Alan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I'll be back with the cream pretty soon. Scott? Meet us down on the track, okay?"

"Sure, Sprout." Scott was busy composing a text message. "After I send this off to some interested parties."

The locked door that Alan had tried opened and Xavion stuck his head out. "C'mon, Pinky. It's time!"

Alan looked flustered, glancing back and forth from a smiling Scott, intent on his phone, to a gesturing Zave. Finally, he threw his hands up and sprinted toward the gym, disappearing inside.

"Ah, yes. Pinky." Scott murmured, his smile widening. "I forgot to ask about that. Hm... he doesn't want me to call him 'Sprout'..." He pressed a final button with a flourish, then folded up his phone and turned to Sable. "Now, where were we?"

xxxx

"Alan, pay attention!" Coach Evans said sharply. "I know you have an audience but your focus needs to be here, not the stands."

"Yes, sir," Alan said with a nod. He backed up again, shook his arms, and let out a breath. Then, when he was ready, he headed full-tilt down the grassy lane. He hit the launching board and sailed out over the sand pit. His feet hit the surface, burying deep into the sand and his body fell forward. He caught himself with his hands and waited for the coach to tell him to get up.

"That would have been an impressive jump," the coach grumbled, "if you hadn't marked the plasticine. Get up and let's try it again."

Alan blew out a frustrated breath and shook his head as he got up, brushing the sand from his hands. He took the rake and smoothed surface of the sand again before his next try. A quick glance into the stands showed Scott sitting about halfway up, conversing with Sable. To Alan's eye, they were sitting a bit too close together and Scott's attention seemed to be focused more on the girl than on the field.

Having finished with the rake, he put it back in place then returned to the end of the lane. A quick limbering shake, a deep breath let in and out, and he headed down toward the pit again. Hitting the launching board, he pushed off hard, ending up in the sand at nearly the same place as before.

"Much better!" Coach Evans said, his tone approving. "Not a mark! Let's try it one more time, then work on the high jump."

Three jumps into the high jump, Alan was getting frustrated. Xavion was again working on changing Alan's own technique to the "Fosbury Flop".

"Why can't I do this my way, Zave?" Alan pleaded. "It feels better to me. I keep hitting the bar with my shoulder doing this flop thing."

Xavion looked at the bar, and at Alan, then at the pad he held in his hand. "Do you think you can clear that height with the way you do it?"

Alan squinted at the bar. It was higher than his bed, that was certain, but he felt confident he could clear it... if he were allowed to use his own technique. He glanced over at Zave and nodded. "Yeah. I can."

Zave folded his arms, and with a quick motion of his head, indicated the crossbar. "Show me."

Moving with care, judging the distance with his eyes, Alan stepped back. He shot a quick glance toward Scott, now alone in the stands and watching intently. A quick deep breath, a swallow, and off he ran.

The approach was good; he could feel it. His leading leg was positioned just how he wanted it; he pushed off strongly, using more force than he would when hitting the mattress. Up he went, not feeling the bar beneath him, not seeing it before him, and when he reached the apex of his jump, he threw his following leg and arm up and over. This set him turning, and within seconds he had flipped over entirely, landing on his forearms and knees in the thick mat. There was clapping coming from somewhere, and he glanced up to see Scott standing up, applauding. His brother paused to give him a thumb's up, and Alan returned the motion with a wide grin. Then he climbed off the mat and approached Xavion.

"Well?"

Zave swiped a hand across his mouth. "I guess I can talk to Coach about it."

Alan grinned. "Thanks, Zave!"

A whistle blew, and Xavion flicked his hand towards Alan's shoulder. "C'mon. Coach wants us."

xxxx

"What do you th-think?"

Fermat looked around the table. They'd stopped at a buffet this time, one not too far from the school. Their quiz match had been at one of the private schools in nearby Pittsfield and, as had happened before, they pulled out a close victory. Some of the players had scoffed in private as the opposing team had girls on it as well as boys, but their scoffing was silenced when St. Joseph's took an early lead, one that the Wharton team had to scramble to surmount.

The other quizzers glanced at each other. Mikal Enjaian shrugged. "I guess so. We don't have a whole lot of time to really get to know each other outside of the meets."

Tom Lopez nodded. "I can go for it, as long as it's only twice a week."

"I don't know that it'd help with teamwork," Wei No added, "but it's not going to hurt."

They all looked toward Devdan, their team captain. Fermat crossed his fingers; if Dev didn't think it was a good idea, then the whole thing would fall through.

Dev, seeing that everyone was gazing his way, started a bit. He smiled widely. "I think also that it is a good idea. If you would remind us at practice, Robbie, then we can dine together afterwards. And on competition days, we can break our fasts as a team, as the sports teams do." He glanced around. "Is there anyone who cannot make it to our common mealtimes, or who would wish not to participate?"

No one answered. Dev clapped his thin hands together once. "So, it is decided." He rubbed his hands together. "Now, who else is ready for some dessert?"

xxxx

"So, where's Sable?" Alan set his tray of Japanese food down on an unoccupied table. The mall food court was busy; it always was on Friday nights.

"Working." Scott added his own tray, a wrapped Philly cheese steak sub taking up the vast majority of a cheap paper plate. The brothers sat down together, and each were quiet for a few moments as they unwrapped food and condiments before settling down to eat.

"I thought you would have asked her to come." Alan said between bites. He took a long pull on his soda's straw.

"I did; she said she had to work the dinner shift at Wharton, then had other things to do afterwards." Scott took a big bite of his sub. Bits of chopped steak, sautéed onions and peppers, and gobs of melted cheese oozed out onto the plate. He made a sound of approval, picked up a paper napkin and wiped his chin. When his mouth was clear, he shook his head. "Man, that is _good_! I gotta get Onaha to make these sometime. I miss this kind of food!"

Alan motioned toward his plate of rice, stir-fried vegetables and teriyaki chicken. "This is okay, but Onaha does it better. I just don't get it at school much." He leaned towards Scott. "Do you really like her? Sable, I mean."

"Well, yeah. I mean, she seems to be an interesting gal. The goth stuff... I think that's just for show." Scott shrugged. "I haven't had a lot of time to talk with her, but at least she's conscientious."

Alan frowned. "How do you get that?"

"Because she's working in Wharton's kitchen when she could be here with _me_." His point made, Scott took another big bite of sandwich.

Alan shook his head slowly, as in disbelief. Just as he was about to scoop up some rice with his plastic fork, a phone rang close by. Scott put down his sandwich again, and picked up a napkin to wipe his hands, but Alan already had his phone out. "It's mine," he said, checking the caller ID. With a sigh, he answered, holding the phone to one ear, and putting a finger in the other.

"Alan Tracy here... no, I'm sorry; I was at track practice." Scott listened to Alan's side of the conversation while trying to look as if he wasn't. "Yeah, I was cleared... thanks. When? Tomorrow?" Alan glanced up at Scott, and took in a deep breath. "Yeah. I can. Tomorrow morning. Ten? Sounds good. No, no, I won't need a ride; my brother's in town and can drive me. Call Mr. Wolfe? Would you? Yeah, thanks. Okay. I'll see you tomorrow at ten. Berkshire County Jail... in Pittsfield. I can get the address; my brother's rental has GPS. Right. I'll call if I change my mind. Thanks, Detective. Goodbye."

Scott had stopped eating. "I take it that was about seeing Sugi?" he asked, his tone soft.

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Tomorrow morning at ten."

_

* * *

How will the visit go? What will Sugi say? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	62. Unmentionable Person

_Author's note: _The confrontation. Scott gets an idea. Short chapter this time; I hope it works. Thanks to Lillihafrue for input on jail procedure and for being a sounding board, to Susanmartha for the title, and to Hobbeth for betareading. .

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan fidgeted nervously in the waiting area at the county jail. He was dressed in his formal school uniform: jacket, tie, dress shirt, trousers, and well-shined dress shoes. Mr. Wolfe sat on one side of him; it was he who had suggested the more formal attire.

"Put a psychological distance between yourself and your attacker," he'd counseled. "Make him realize that this is no friendly chat."

Scott sat on Alan's other side, and beyond him rested Fermat. Scott had taken both of them out for breakfast at a local pancake house. Alan just picked at his food, a knot tightening within him. Scott noticed, but didn't say anything at the time. However, when informed of the impending appointment, Fermat insisted on coming along. "You c-can use all the moral s-support you can get," he had stated.

Alan had given his friend a slight smile. "Thanks," was all he could bring himself to say.

The county sheriff's office and jail turned out to be a fairly new facility located a few miles past the mall. Lee Sugimoto was being held there until all the charges against him were sorted out. They were waiting for Kerry Larson to appear, and things would get underway.

Scott noticed Alan's fidgeting. "You okay?"

Alan sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I dunno. I guess it's just the waiting." He gave his stomach an absent-minded rub, and shot a worried glance at the locked door.

Scott opened his mouth to say something when there was a buzzing, and the door of the waiting area opened. Kerry Larson stepped in, a folder in her hand. She held the door open with her back.

"We're ready, Alan."

Alan blew out a shaky breath as he stood. Scott, Fermat and Mr. Wolfe stood with him, and Scott put a protective hand on Alan's shoulder.

Kerry looked at each of them, and smiled apologetically. "Just Alan and his attorney, I'm afraid. You two will have to wait here."

Alan gave his brother a troubled look, and Scott, his face serious, squeezed Alan's shoulder. "You don't have to do this. Not if you don't want to."

"He's right, Alan." Wolfe had picked up his briefcase. "You can walk out right now. You can stop things at any point, and walk away. Just say the word."

"I understand." Alan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. The knot got even tighter, making him slightly nauseous. "Let's go."

Scott released his grip, and Fermat reached out to touch Alan's arm. "G-Good luck."

"Thanks." With that, Alan let his attorney herd him out of the room.

"We shouldn't be long," Kerry told Scott and Fermat before leaving the room herself, closing the door behind her.

"Damn." Scott all but flung himself into the vinyl-covered chair. "I wanted to confront this creep myself."

Fermat plopped into the chair beside him. "You and me, b-both."

xxxx

Detective Larsen guided Alan and Wolfe to a conference room, and indicated that they take two of the chairs, sitting on the same side of the table. An older lady, wearing a business suit, her silver-white hair done up in a twist, was sitting on the other side. She reminded Alan somewhat of Miss Belvedere.

"Alan, Mr. Wolfe, this is Ms. Constance Graham, Lee Sugimoto's attorney. Ms. Graham, Palmer Wolfe and Alan Tracy."

The two attorneys shook hands with each other, then Ms. Graham shook hands with Alan. "Thank you for agreeing to see my client today, Alan. I understand this must be difficult for you."

Alan nodded, moistening his lips with his tongue. "Yeah. It is." Beside him, Palmer Wolfe laid his briefcase on the table; Ms. Graham's already sat before her.

The door behind them opened. Palmer Wolfe turned around, but Alan didn't. From the corner of his eye he could see a figure make its way around the table. Flanked by two guards, Lee Sugimoto had arrived.

He sat down across from Alan, maneuvering carefully as his hands were cuffed. He wore a pair of jeans and a light blue, long-sleeved shirt. He looked thinner, and his face wore a weary expression, but as his gaze met Alan's, he smiled slightly. The two guards took up positions within easy reach.

"All of you, please keep your hands in sight at all times," the detective warned. "And Mr. Sugimoto, please be reminded that you are still under Miranda – except for any direct communication with your attorney. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lee nodded.

"I'll be right outside." With that, Kerry Larson pressed a button, and a buzzing noise signaled that she could leave the room.

"Lee, this is Palmer Wolfe, Alan's attorney." Ms. Graham said, indicating the other lawyer. She folded her hands and laid them on the table. "Now. Down to business. Lee?"

Lee Sugimoto licked his lips. "Uh, yeah." He glanced around the room, then met Alan's impassive gaze again. "Thanks for coming, Alan. I, uh, was hoping to talk to you in private, but it seems that's not going to happen." He gestured toward Alan's face with both hands. "What happened to the cheek?"

Alan's gut lurched. "As if you didn't know." His words were flat and low and sharp and hard as he raised a hand to his face. "This is where your pal Steve smashed my face into the tree a few times."

Lee spread his hands as best he could. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't realize how hard he'd done that." He squirmed in his seat a little.

Leaning in a little, Alan laid both hands flat on the table. "You wanted to talk to me. So talk."

"Well," Lee began, avoiding Alan's eyes. "You probably have heard that Mickey and Pierce pled guilty for beating someone else up at Wharton. They're trying to drag me down with them for that." He paused to let Alan respond. When Alan remained silent, he continued. "I wanted to ask if you would testify in my defense; tell the court what really happened."

The bile began to rise in Alan's throat, but he forced it back down with a heavy swallow. He felt his jaw tighten; his eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists. Palmer Wolfe leaned over and whispered in Alan's ear. "Calm down, Alan. Don't let him get to you." Alan forced himself to relax, taking a deep breath through his nose and letting it out slowly. He did this once, twice, and again before he felt his jaw loosen enough to speak.

"Go on."

Looking around, Lee moistened his lips then cleared his throat. "Uh... yeah. I, uh, was hoping you could tell the court about that night, how we were both in the dorm, doing homework..."

Alan paled and his eyes widened. He shook his head, starting slow as Lee's words took hold and becoming sharper, more violent with every syllable. His voice started soft but rose to a shout. "No...nononoNO! That is _not_ how it happened!" He slammed his fists on the table, rising from his seat. "We were on the outs. I was ready to move." He jabbed a finger at Lee. "_You_ were out; I don't know where. You came back before curfew; told me it wasn't my business to know where you'd been! Told me where anyway... said you were out tossing a football with your friends! Your pants were stained with mud and grass!"

Palmer Wolfe stood quickly as one of the guards moved around to Alan. "Alan, sit down!" The firm words and equally firm hand on Alan's shoulder made the teen drop suddenly into his seat.

Wolfe glanced at the guard. "He'll be okay now. There won't be another outburst like that again. Will there, Alan?" His voice held a world of warning.

Alan took another deep breath, and slumped in his chair. "No... sir."

The guard nodded and moved back to his position behind Lee.

Lee spread his hands again. "I'm sorry, Alan, but that's not how I remember it." He leaned forward, putting his forearms on the table. "I distinctly remember doing homework in our room. I mean, it's not like we were friendly or anything; it was the silent treatment on both ends. And I remember asking you about your move, just before lights out." He smiled wanly, and shrugged a little. "I was pretty snide about it. The steroids may have messed my memory up some, but I remember that night pretty clearly."

There was a long silence on Alan's part. He was trying to process the barefaced lie that had been handed to him. His stomach roiled; he was tense from toes to scalp. Finally, he let out a short huff of breath.

"You want me to testify for you? Don't you mean _lie_ for you?" The words came through nearly clenched teeth. He shook his head. "I've already told the police the truth. You didn't come back to our room until just before curfew. You said you'd been out throwing the football around." He paused, and his voice held a note of angry satisfaction. "_I_ know why you can't tell the truth: you'd have tell who you were playing with, so they could give you an alibi. And you can't do that because _they don't exist!_ So you asked me to lie instead. After all, it's your word against mine, isn't it?" He leaned forward, glaring. "Isn't it?"

Lee said nothing, just sat back, cuffed hands still on the table, scowling.

"Right." Alan brusquely shook his head again. His voice was terse, and ragged. "And y'know what else? I knew you'd blame the steroids for what you did. Nothing's ever your fault, is it? Not the hell you put me through. Not the lying. Not the rumors. It's everybody else's fault but yours."

"I didn't start any rumors." Sugi leaned forward again, so abruptly that the guards moved in closer, and his lawyer put a hand on his arm. "I don't know who did."

Alan shot him a disdainful look. "Right. Sure. Keep telling yourself that. I don't believe it. Neither do my friends." He put his hands flat on the table again, and stood, then turned to Mr. Wolfe. "I'm done here."

As Wolfe rose and Alan turned to go, Lee came to his feet in one convulsive move. "You don't know what it's like, do you? To have a mom walk out on you, or a dad who cares more about his damned inventions than he does about you!" A guard moved in and took him firmly by the arm. It didn't stop him. He hooked a thumb at himself. "I needed those steroids! It's not my fault! They messed me up! Damned stupid Pierce messed me up!" Ms. Graham rose to try and calm him; the other guard moved in to hold him back.

As they reached the door and Mr. Wolfe pressed the button to be let out, Alan turned. He swallowed heavily, and caught Lee's gaze in his own. Lee stopped shouting.

"Y'know, my dad always said there were no shortcuts," Alan said, a bitter tone to his voice. "Now I see why. You took one... and it led you nowhere."

With that, the door buzzed. Wolfe pulled it open, ushering Alan through. Kerry Larson waited on the other side.

"Are you okay, Alan?" she asked. "You look pale..."

Alan swallowed hard. He was still tense, and now he started shaking. "I... I'll be okay. Where's Scott? I want out of here!"

Kerry gently took his arm. "C'mon. Your brother's waiting just down the hall."

xxxx

"So, what do they plan to do?" Scott paused to take another bite of his chili dog, then wiped his chin as he chewed. He swallowed, and took a drag on his soda straw. "Any ideas?"

It was just past noon, and the three young men were in the mall's food court. Alan thought they were still too close to the jail, but he said nothing. He picked at his food again, even though it was one of his favorites.

He shrugged. "I dunno. Mr. Wolfe said he'd be in touch."

Fermat shook a plastic fork at him. "Wh-Why do you think Sugi said what he d-did? He should h-have known you wouldn't lie for him."

"I don't think he knows me well at all, Fermat." Alan fished out a bite of chicken and put it in his mouth.

"I agree." Scott nodded. "I wish I'd had the opportunity to tell him a few things personally. Preferably with my fists."

"M-Me, too. Especially about the rumors h-he started." Fermat frowned at his nearly empty plate as if offended by what he saw there. "H-How could he say that he didn't st-st-st... originate the rumors with a st-straight face?"

"I dunno, but he did." Alan picked through his food again, then crumpled up his napkin and threw it on his tray. "He blamed everybody but himself. The steroids, Pierce, his dad..."

Scott gave Alan a sharp, thoughtful glance. "Y'know, I just had an idea." He sat back and sipped his drink as the others watched him. "Something Dad said about Pierce... hmm." He pulled out his phone, then noticed that the younger two had stopped eating. "If you two are done, let's get on the road. I need to make a call."

They disposed of their trash and Scott speed-dialed a number as they walked out into the parking lot. "Hello, Brains?" He glanced at his watch. "Damn. Voice mail. It's too early there. Well, I'll leave a message and check back later."

Fermat had perked up at the sound of his father's nickname, but his face fell as he realized what time it was on the island. Scott continued his conversation. "Brains, listen, I just had a thought about that camera tech, and I didn't know who to pass it on to at the lawyers' office. Here it is. Seems Lee Sugimoto blames his dad for his problems. Dad said something to us about Pierce's family – Pierce is the dealer who provided the steroids. He said that this family was involved in some shady dealings. Could it be possible that Sugimoto lifted his dad's plans and gave or sold them to Pierce? Then Pierce's people turned around and sold them to whoever?"

By this time, they were at the car and Scott unlocked the doors so they could get in, phone pressed to his ear and continuing to talk all the while. "From what I understand, Lee was short on cash. Maybe this is how he got his steroids. Can you pass it on to the lawyers? Have them take a look into it? Thanks. Talk to you soon."

Scott ended the call, and closed up his phone. "There. That should start the ball rolling." He started the car. "Let's head back to Wharton."

_

* * *

What will Sugi finally be charged with? Will Alan have to testify? Can he put this behind him? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	63. Unsatisfactory Answers

_Author's note: _Alan chills out. Scott has a date. And, out of nowhere, a rescue! Thanks to Hobbeth and Lillehafrue for betareading. Many thanks to Cathrl for finding a really big gaffe on my part!

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

The ball bounced off the hoop, making the goal reverberate. Alan changed position quickly to catch the rebound. Scott waved his arms, getting in Alan's face. From the corner of one eye, Alan could see Fermat moving below the hoop, arms outstretched to indicate he was clear.

Feinting to one side, Alan drew Scott away from Fermat, then passed the ball to his younger friend. Fermat dribbled a few paces away; Scott came for him but before the taller man could reach him, he took a clean shot. It wound once around the hoop and dropped through the net.

"Nice one!" Alan called, as Scott collected the ball.

"Thanks!" Fermat replied, breathless. He and Alan both converged on Scott, who kept his body between Fermat and the ball as he dribbled. Before Alan could reach them, Scott straightened, jumping up a little as he shot the ball through the hoop without touching the edges.

"Three points! Nothing but net!" Scott crowed as Alan took control once more. He watched his brother as they easily paced each other down the half-court. "How're you doing now?"

Alan smiled a bit. "Better."

The basketball game had been Fermat's idea. "I h-haven't played in so long because of my arm. Since S-Scott's here, maybe we can p-play a half-court game."

"Wouldn't be fair, would it? Two against one?" Alan protested.

"I'm willing to take you both on at once." Scott grinned. "I outclass the two of you separately _and_ together!"

"I'll t-take that as a ch-challenge." Fermat grinned back, rubbing his hands together. "C'mon, Alan. Let's sh-show the junior b-birdman who's better."

"Junior birdman?" Scott feigned outrage. "Who are you calling 'junior', Junior?"

Alan shrugged. He took a few minutes to change out of his formal uniform and into some casual clothes, then met Fermat and his brother at the courts.

He had to admit, the idea was a good one. It felt good to just spend time goofing off, particularly with Scott. The fresh cool air made it feel good just to breathe, and the calls and shouts of boys playing ball around them faded into the background.

"Hey, Pinky!"

Alan turned to see who was calling, and Scott took advantage of the distraction. He slapped the ball from his brother's grasp and headed back toward the goal with it. Fermat chased him, but wasn't quite fast enough.

"You'll never make the team if you let yourself get distracted like that, Pinky!" Xavion entered the court area through the chain link gate, basketball in hand, followed by Jason and Qaeshon. Alan jogged over to meet them. A loud "Yee-hah!" sounded in the background, and the small group turned their attention to Scott, who had made another basket.

"Which brother is that?" Qaeshon asked as Scott and Fermat joined them.

"This is Scott, my oldest brother. Former Air Force." Alan introduced his friends. He was secretly pleased to see that Xavion could look Scott square in the eye.

"So," Zave asked, showing off a bit by spinning the basketball on a finger, then nonchalantly letting it fall into his palm. "You guys up for a game? Three on three?" He tossed the ball at Fermat, who caught it easily. "I see the Brain here is ready and raring."

Scott took a glance at his watch and swore under his breath. "I'm sorry, guys, but I need to get back to my hotel for a shower and change of clothes. Got a date for the evening, and I wouldn't want to stand her up."

"A d-date?" Fermat gave Scott an almost unbelieving look.

"Yeah, a date. Dinner and a movie." Scott clapped a hand on Alan's shoulder. "You probably know her; she works here. Alan..." He grinned. "I mean, Pinky, here, introduced us."

Alan turned to his brother a look of incredulous horror on his face. "No. No, you didn't. Not Sable."

The grin got even wider. "Yeah, that's the one. Sable." He looked at his watch again. "Nice to meet you all. Alan, Fermat, I'll see you again before I leave for home." With that, Scott tossed the ball to Fermat, then picked up his jacket and slung it over a shoulder. At the multiple good-byes behind him, he gave a two-fingered salute and walked off.

"Sable?" Jason turned on Alan, his voice squeaking. "Why on earth did you introduce _her_ to your brother?"

Alan mumbled something. "I didn't hear that, Pinky," Xavion said, raising an eyebrow.

"I said that it was payment for something she helped me with." Alan gave both Zave and Jason glowering looks. "I mentioned he was coming and she wanted to meet him. The date was his idea."

"Wonder what else he has p-planned." Fermat spun the basketball in his hands, looking thoughtfully after Scott's retreating form.

"I dunno, and I don't really care." Alan shrugged, then glanced around at his friends. "So, we gonna play or not?"

"Sure, Pinky." Zave tossed his ball up and caught it again. "You and me against the terrible trio here."

"Hey! That's not fair!" Kay's protest sparked a friendly discussion that ended when Alan agreed to play with Jason and Qaeshon, and Xavion taking Fermat on his team.

xxxx

"Well, this is déjà vu all over again," Gordon quipped as he stepped into the rescue basket. He clipped safety lines to the sides of the platform. "I'm secure, Tin-Tin. Let 'er rip!"

Standing by the winch controls, Tin-Tin focused on directing the rescue basket down to its target: the sloping helipad of the SBX-2, a sea-based radar platform that was listing to one side. A sizable group of civilian technicians and non-essential personnel were waiting for pick up. Though the platform was made for use in high winds and heavy seas, it wasn't made to do so with a dozen or more holes punched through the thick metal of its port keel. Divers were trying to repair the mysterious holes, and they, with the military personnel considered essential, were to be airlifted if the situation got any worse. Since the radar facility was currently sitting in the middle of the Pacific, military airlift and rescue by sea were hours away. International Rescue could get there far faster... which was good, considering that Typhoon Faxai was on its way.

"They've got the platform partially submerged to starboard." Jeff's voice sounded inside her helmet. Tin-Tin was fully uniformed today, wearing the green piping of Thunderbird Two. "It messes with their stability, but makes things easier on the divers. They can work nearer the surface. I might offer to deploy Thunderbird Four to give them a hand and hurry things along. How it going down there, Tin-Tin?"

"Gordon's almost down," she replied.

"F-A-B," Jeff said as he made another sweep around the platform. "I have visual. Virgil? Any problems?"

In Thunderbird Two's cockpit, Virgil tweaked his 'Bird's trim. "None, Thunderbird One. Winds are steady, and so are we."

"F-A-B." Jeff sounded pleased. He took Thunderbird One down carefully, keeping far enough from the platform so that he wouldn't interfere with the repair work going on, but close enough that he could observe with a long-range viewer. He glanced upward. The morning sky was still blue, but off to the west long tendrils of clouds were reaching in their direction. Beyond them, the sky looked gray and sullen. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One; what's the status on that storm?"

John checked his satellite radar screens again. "Thunderbird Five here. You've got fifty minutes to an hour before the leading edge reaches your position. Winds should be picking up in about thirty."

"So, we should get as many of these people up in the next half hour as we can." Jeff paused, thinking. "Let's see. Full complement is currently eighty-one, of those, twenty-six are considered 'essential', including seven divers. Leaves us with fifty-five. Carrying eight each trip..."

Jeff was interrupted by Gordon's call. "I have the first group ready to go, Thunderbird Two. Haul away!"

Using his viewer, Jeff could see the bright yellow platform rising slowly and steadily in the air. Only when they reached the corona of winds that surrounded Thunderbird Two's hover jets did the basket show any signs of sideways movement, and that was minimal. "Looking good, Gordon. Now, keep it up."

"F-A-B," Gordon replied. "No barfers on this trip, thank God!"

Tin-Tin made a face. "Eww! Gordon! That's gross!"

"Well, _you_ don't want to wash it off, do you?"

The rescue basket slid into the bay, and Gordon locked it into place. Tin-Tin waited for the light on her console to go green before giving a thumbs up. "Okay. You're locked in."

"F-A-B." Gordon opened the gate to the rescue basket, and stepped down, helping the first of their passengers, a pregnant woman, from the platform. "Please watch your step."

Tin-Tin moved in to help, and when the platform was clear, Gordon jerked his head toward the interior of Thunderbird Two. "Go ahead and help guide these folks to the passenger bay. I'll do the safety diagnostics for the next trip."

"F-A-B." Tin-Tin was wearing her helmet, so her voice sounded different coming out of the external speakers. "Please follow me. Watch your step."

She led them to one of the pod's interior compartments. Ten rows of ten seats sat in the middle of the compartment. More seats, folded up to allow for freer movement, lined the walls. This pod module could hold 150 people for safe transport. She guided the little group to the back and had them fill in the last row. "Please buckle up. I'll be back in a few moments to help if you need it."

With that, she left, securing the door and hurrying back to the winch room. The platform was already on its way down. "Gordon, you're supposed to wait for me!"

"Don't have time, Tin-Tin." Gordon's disembodied voice crackled in her helmet. "The diagnostics came up green. Just keep an eye on things for me."

"Gordon." Jeff cut in. "We do this one by the book. You wait until Tin-Tin is available to spot you."

"But the storm..."

"Gordon..."

There was a pause, then a chastened, "Yes, sir." Tin-Tin let out the breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding.

Once Gordon was safely down, Tin-Tin went back to the passenger compartment. "I'm sorry I took so long," she said as she checked the passengers' harnesses. She helped one of the men to undo his and get rid of the twists he'd managed to put in the belts, then tweaked the fastenings for the pregnant woman.

As she leaned over to make sure all was well, the woman said, "You seem awfully young to be doing this."

Tin-Tin smiled, though the woman couldn't see it behind the helmet. "Thank you for your concern, ma'am. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if the commander didn't have faith in my abilities." She straightened. "Now, I have to leave again. I'll be back shortly."

On her way back to the winch room, she heard Jeff's voice. From the volume, she could tell he was speaking to her and her alone. "Nicely handled, Tin-Tin."

Within the confines of her helmet, Tin-Tin blushed. "Thank you, sir."

xxxx

"Damn. I never knew Sugi could be so stupid." Zave finished his soda with a loud slurping noise.

The group decided to skip dinner in the dining hall and instead hold conference in Jason's room. Jason still didn't have a roommate, which meant more space, and fewer listening ears. Zave had made a quick run to a local Chinese restaurant and come back with combination platters, one for each boy, and a twelve pack of soda. During dinner, Alan recounted his confrontation with Lee Sugimoto.

"Wish A.J. were here; we'll have to bring him up to speed when he gets back from Connecticut." Kay balled up a napkin and shot it toward Jason's wastebasket. "He shoots, he scores!"

"Too bad you weren't making shots like that during the game!" Jason quipped. He forked up a mouthful of fried rice. "Hey, Zave?" he asked, spitting out little tidbits as he did so.

"Man, eat with your mouth closed," Xavion said, disgusted. "Ask me when you're finished chewing."

Jason rolled his eyes, but followed his friend's instructions. After he'd swallowed, he pointed his plastic fork at Zave. "I wanted to know how the team did today."

Alan straightened up, his interest piqued. Zave snorted and shook his head. "We blew it again." He nodded toward Alan. "I'll be real glad to have you back on the team. Maybe we'll win an event or two."

"I'll be glad to be back." Alan poked around his sesame chicken with his chopsticks – having Onaha as a cook meant that using chopsticks was a common occurrence – and found a bite to his liking. He popped it in his mouth. "Once I hear what they're going to do with Sugi, I'll be able to focus on the rest of my life."

There was a moment of quiet. Fermat glanced at Alan, a concerned look on his face. Alan didn't meet his gaze, so Fermat transferred it to Qaeshon, saying the first thing that came to his mind. "I w-wonder how Scott's d-date is going."

"I still can't believe he asked her out," Alan said, shaking his head. A gleam came to his eye, and he patted his pocket, then dipped in to pull out his phone. "I really should check in with him..."

The others laughed, all but Zave. "Ooh, that's cold, man. Real cold!" he said, wincing, shaking his head and trying to hide a smile all at the same time.

Jason grinned. "Do it! Do it!"

"Okay, okay. " Alan put out a hand, forestalling any more conversation. "I need something good here. Let me think."

His friends looked at him expectantly, eagerly waiting to see what Alan would come up with. A slow smile crossed his face. "Got it." He opened his phone, and amidst the chuckles of his friends, he dialed Scott's number.

xxxx

"So, how does someone as talented as you are come to be working in the kitchen at Wharton?" Scott poured a little more red wine into his glass. He had chosen, without knowing, the same restaurant that Jeff had visited on his last night in Pittsfield, and had met his date there.

Sable, dressed in a black and red corset top with no-nonsense black trousers and heavy-looking platform shoes, took a sip of her soft drink. Scott had offered to buy her a drink, but she'd politely turned him down with an enigmatic, "I'm on duty."

"Gotta pay the tuition somehow," she replied, putting down her tumbler and picking up her fork. "The work schedule fits around my classes at the moment and I should be able to continue working just mornings once rehearsals start." She took a bite of her entrée, and when she'd swallowed it, she gave him a speculative look. "What about you? Where did you go to school?"

"The US Air Force Academy," Scott replied, pouring a touch more wine into his glass. "After graduation, I rose up quickly through the ranks – on my own merits, and not because of my name, I'll have you know. I was a top fighter pilot."

"Well, that explains a lot," Sable said, a sly smile playing around her heavily rouged lips.

"Such as?"

"Your tendency toward arrogance."

Scott raised an eyebrow and smiled. He opened his mouth to say something when his phone vibrated. With a sigh, he said, "Excuse me," and opened the phone so see who was calling. "Alan?" His face took on a more earnest and serious look as he said, "I need to answer this."

Sable nodded, waving a hand in his direction as permission. Scott pressed a button, and held the phone to his ear. "Hey, Alan. What's up?"

He listened for a few moments, then frowned and suddenly said, "Cute, Alan. Goodbye." With a sharp snap, he closed the phone and tucked it in his suit jacket pocket. He gave Sable an apologetic look. "Sorry about that." He shook his head and made a sour face. "Little brothers. Sometimes, I want to wring their necks. Especially his."

"Little sisters aren't much better," Sable said, sounding sympathetic. "They're just sneakier."

"Then maybe my brother Gordon should have been a girl. He's the sneakiest person I know."

They both laughed, then Sable said, "So, you're a fighter pilot, huh?"

Scott shrugged a little. "Well, I _was_ one. I'm not in the Air Force anymore."

"How come? Or are you just a reservist or something?" Sable asked, then went back to eating, her eyes fixed on him.

"I got a better offer," he replied, smiling. "Working for my dad."

"That must have been a big change," Sable said, biting into a soft breadstick. "I'd probably be bored to tears."

"A big change, yes. But never boring."

They continued their meal, fitting in small talk between bites, and had just begun to talk about which movie to see when a soft beeping came from Sable's boxy black handbag. "Hold that thought," she said as she fished around, until she came up with a pager. The message on it made her scowl, then sigh in a resigned way.

"I'm sorry about this, but I have to go," she said, gathering her things. "Duty calls."

"Duty?" Scott rose as she did, a puzzled frown on his face. "What duty?"

"Don't have time to explain, Mr. Wing Commander," she said. She let him help her with her coat, then kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Enjoyed the dinner, though. Raincheck on the movie, okay?"

"Anything I can help with? Do you need a ride?" he asked, feeling a little stunned.

"Nope. My ride's outside." She gave him a wide smile and blew him a kiss as she headed for the dining area door. "Later, flyboy!" Then she was gone. The other customers, who had watched her leave, now turned their gaze to Scott for a moment. When he sat back down, they returned to their meals, their topic of conversation now changed to the scene they'd just witnessed.

The waiter came up to Scott's table. "Is there anything I can get for you, sir?" he asked.

Scott seemed to ponder the question for a moment, then blew out a long breath, passing his hand back through his hair. He turned to the waiter. "Yeah. A cup of strong coffee."

xxxx

"Thunderbird Four, ready for launch."

"F-A-B," Virgil said. He lowered Thunderbird Two close to the choppy surface of the sea. The edges of the storm had moved in, and the divers had to abandon their work. The captain of the radar installation had given them the go ahead, and had provided a number of replacement panels for Thunderbird Four to laser on.

"We have at least three more sizable holes, and perhaps another two smaller ones," he told Jeff. "Your help in getting the keel patched up is greatly appreciated. With the patches, we should be able to get under power and meet the USN Sentinel, which is en route."

"Any idea what made the holes?" Jeff asked.

The captain paused for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say. "Not yet. Our experts speculate that it was some sort of equipment failure."

That conversation stuck with Jeff as he watched Thunderbird Four's cradle lowered. Gordon's voice sounded in the cockpit. "Launching Thunderbird Four."

"F-A-B." He watched as the bright yellow craft plunged into the waves and disappeared from sight.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One."

"Thunderbird Two here, go ahead."

"Time for you to get your passengers to safety, Virgil. Hickam Air Force Base at Pearl Harbor is waiting for them."

"F-A-B." Virgil retracted Thunderbird Four's cradle and lifted the transporter slowly into the air. "ETA Hickham: 57 minutes."

"F-A-B, Virgil. See you in a couple of hours."

Thunderbird Two turned gracefully, and headed off to the northeast. Jeff took Thunderbird One for another turn around the SBX facility. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One."

"Reading you five by five, Thunderbird One. What's on your mind?" John maneuvered his chair closer to the video panel where his father's uniformed image could be seen.

"Any results on that search I had you initiate?" Jeff glanced down at the installation; they'd adjusted the ballast on the port keel again so that both sides were underwater, and they'd have better stability in the storm. This also allowed Thunderbird Four easier access to the damage. A strong gust of wind had Jeff hanging on tightly to the control yoke as he kept Thunderbird One flying smoothly despite the buffeting. He was tempted to set Thunderbird One down on the newly stable helipad, but thought better of it – for now.

"I haven't yet come up with any threats against the SBX," John said, glancing back at the streaming data on his search screen. "But my search has barely started, and the military would be pretty close-mouthed about such a thing, anyway."

"Hm." Jeff frowned, rubbing a hand across his chin. "Who do we know in Military Intelligence that might be able to give us a hand here? Because I've got a hunch that this was not equipment failure."

"I can talk to Tim Casey. He might have heard something," John offered. "He's not military intelligence, but he has plenty of contacts who are."

Jeff nodded slowly, looking pleased. "Tim is just the man. Give him a call and ask him to dig around a bit. Use priority channel one. He'll know its from us, but not who is calling."

"F-A-B." John paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his handsome features. "You know, you really should make him an agent, Dad. He'd be a great help."

"I've been thinking about that, John. We can discuss it more when the rescue is over."

John took the hint. "F-A-B. I'll let you know as soon as I find anything. Thunderbird Five, out." His picture winked out.

Jeff rubbed his chin, thinking about Tim Casey. He knew his old friend was a good man, but had been hesitant to ask him to put his loyalty to his country ahead of his loyalty to International Rescue. _If push came to shove, Tim would have some pretty sensitive information that he could use against us should we ever get on the military's bad side._

He shook his head. _No sense thinking about it now. Time to check in with Gordon._ "Thunderbird Four from Thunderbird One," he called. "How's it going down there, Gordon?"

Gordon's face appeared, looking ghostly in a flickering yellow light. He was wearing welding goggles, so Jeff could barely see his eyes, but the rest of his face was set in a mask of concentration.

"Thunderbird Four here. I'm almost done with the first patch." Gordon snorted. "I'd like to know what standards they use to classify a 'sizable' hole. This one's nearly a meter across."

Jeff's eyebrow went up. "Really. That's an interesting piece of news." He paused. "Tell me; does it look as if the hole was created by pressure from the inside or from the outside?"

"Inside, definitely. All the edges are on this side of the hull." Gordon leaned forward a little, making a grunting sound. "Just a little more."

"Go carefully then, son. Since we don't know what caused this, we should be on the alert for any possible surprises."

"F-A-B, Dad. I'll be careful." Another little grunt and Gordon pulled back, removing the goggles. He pinched his nose at the bridged and blinked. "Even with the goggles there's an after image."

"Take a few minutes to rest your eyes, then tackle the next big one."

"F-A-B. Moving to the next site. Thunderbird Four out."

_

* * *

What's going on with the SBX? Will Tim Casey come up with some answers? Will Scott really kill Alan? What will Sugi finally be charged with? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	64. Unnatural Destruction

_Author's note: _I have not forgotten this story; but the muse, she took an extended vacation. The rescue wraps up. Alan and Scott watch. Jeff reacts. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. .

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Thunderbird Four from Thunderbird One." Jeff's hands were beginning to cramp around Thunderbird One's control yoke. He released one and opened it, stretching it to ease the stiffness. Typhoon Faxai had arrived; the wind-whipped rain both lowered visibility and made it hard to keep the rocket plane steady. "How much longer, Gordon? I have an impatient captain up here."

Gordon grunted. His hands were covered with sweat, making his tightened grip on the claw controls difficult to maintain. The bright laser beam made the waters boil around it; their intensity was giving him a headache, even with his light-filtering goggles. A glance to one side told him he had enough air, but that the internal temperature of Thunderbird Four had risen significantly. "Almost done, Thunderbird One. Lasering on the final side of the last panel."

"F-A-B." Jeff glanced up as thunder rumbled overhead. He took Thunderbird One on another circuit of the SBX, eying the inviting helijet platform again. To keep his mind off the deteriorating conditions, he opened up a channel to Thunderbird Five.

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One. John, I need a weather report."

John glanced at the satellite scans and shook his head. "Faxai hasn't moved much since your last request, but projections have him turning toward the NNE. You might get lucky and stay on the fringes of this bad boy."

"F-A-B, John. Gordon reports he's almost done." Jeff paused, adjusting the trim on Thunderbird One's VTOL jets. "What news from Tim Casey?"

"He said he called in a few favors from military intelligence; if there have been threats against the SBX, they're being very closemouthed about them... even to him." John turned to a screen that had just activated. "Virgil's on the horn now, Dad."

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Two. I'm on final approach to Hickam Air Base," Virgil said. "I squeezed an extra bit of speed out of her so I can get back faster. Don't want Gordon to get bored down there in Four."

"Be careful, Virge," John warned. "Lisa Lowe is already on site."

Virgil waved a dismissive hand. "Lisa? Don't worry. We're ready for her and anything IWN wants to dish out."

Jeff chimed in. "Virgil, don't get cocky."

There was a pause, then Virgil replied, "F-A-B, Commander." He checked his controls. "Time to call the tower... Hickam Air base tower, this is Thunderbird Two, requesting permission to land."

As Virgil received permission, John glanced over at the televid feed he was getting from IWN. However, he wasn't the only one watching.

xxxx

"This is Lisa Lowe at Hickam Air Force base at Pearl Harbor, Hawai'i." The blonde reporter droned on and on as Alan, Fermat, and their friends, huddled around Jason's tiny televid player. She motioned behind her. "We understand that Thunderbird Two is due here any minute, carrying the survivors from a crippled radar installation..."

"How do you 'cripple' a radar station?" Qaeshon asked, his brow furrowing.

"I dunno. Attack it with something?" Jason suggested.

Xavion frowned. "I don't think so. I mean, if someone was that stupid, it'd even bigger news than the Thunderbirds."

"D-Depends on what k-k-k... type of installation it is," Fermat added, not looking away from the screen.

Wind whipped Lisa's hair around; tendrils of blonde obscured her face. She had to shout above the sudden rumble of engines. "There's Thunderbird Two now, just overhead..." The camera angle changed, shifting from the reporter to the wide shadow now hovering above her. A tantalizing glimpse of wide green expanse with a white "2" hove into view, then the video feed frizzled and went blank.

"Good," Alan mouthed, not daring even to whisper.

The anchorman, Ned Cook, came into view. "As you can see, our visual has been cut off by Thunderbird Two, but we still have audio..."

xxxx

At the hotel suite where he was nursing a beer, Scott nodded. "Good timing, Virgil." He stood and walked around, full of nervous energy. _It's not often that I'm on the outside looking in_, he thought. _Or not looking, as the case may be._

"Lisa, can you hear me? What's going on there?" Ned held a hand to one ear, fingering his well-hidden ear piece.

xxxx

"Thunderbird Two is settling down on the tarmac behind me." Lisa was still shouting. The whine of engines was diminishing, and there was a slight crunching noise, as if something had landed heavily on a coating of sand. "Stand by. We may be able to restore our video feed."

"What?" Alan cried, peering at the small screen.

xxxx

"Restore video?" Scott frowned. "How the hell...?"

xxxx

"Hickam tower from Thunderbird Two." Virgil's tone was crisp and professional. "What is the ETA of your transports?"

A sharp female voice answered. "Thunderbird Two from Hickam Tower. Transports ETA your location: five minutes."

"Roger, that," Virgil replied, as mentally went over his shut down check list. "We'll be ready. Thunderbird Two, out."

He turned his attention to the view screen that showed Tin-Tin, who was down in the pod, having traveled with their passengers. "Transports will be here momentarily, Tin-Tin. Time to get our guests ready to deplane."

"F-A-B," Tin-Tin said with a smile. She unfastened the straps of the seat she'd chosen, and stood. "We've arrived at our destination. You can unbuckle yourselves now, and prepare to disembark."

Virgil watched her as she began to line the passengers up, choosing those who should be transported first and guiding them to the exit. He reached for the controls that would raise the chassis from the pod just as a red light started flashing on his console, accompanied by a harsh beeping sound.

xxxx

"Look!" Qaeshon shouted, pointing at the screen. "They have visual back!"

"Damn!" Alan hissed.

Jason shot him a look. "You're right, Alan; it's a damned good picture! Up close and personal!"

xxxx

Scott had perched himself at the edge of the sofa, fascinated and alarmed by the images coming across the screen. "C'mon, Virge. Gotta shake that thing, whatever it is." He shook his head. "Tch! C'mon, man! At least cover the windows! You're wide open right now!"

xxxx

"Well, well, well," Virgil said, grinning. "Looks like we have company." He thumbed a switch on his armrest, and outside the windows, a dark tint began to form. It shielded the flight deck from outside scrutiny and cut back on the sun's glare – a necessity during daytime flight.

The camera, wherever it was, caught the darkening of the windshield. "It seems that Thunderbird Two is doing its best to keep us from seeing inside," Lisa said, a touch of triumph in her voice. "But IWN's new ActionCam is getting excellent pictures of the heavy cargo carrier."

John scowled as he watched events unfolding in Hawai'i. "Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird Five," he called. "I'm getting vid of you. Are you having difficulty?"

"Thunderbird Two here." Virgil sounded distracted. "I'm trying to see where this thing is. I want to know where it'll fall when we deploy Brains's countermeasure."

"Never mind that." John shook his head as he glared up at the view screen showing Virgil. "Just knock it down."

"Wait just a second... I thought I saw..." Virgil stood up, peering through the thick polyhexane. "Yes! Got it!"

The camera was a silvery ball, about the size of a softball. He had no idea how it was just hanging there in the air, looking at him like a disembodied robot eye.

"Virgil to Tin-Tin," he called as he reached for a toggle switch. It wasn't part of the smooth control panel as it had been a recently and quickly installed. Brains had assured him that the controls would soon be retrofitted to add this new weapon.

"Tin-Tin here." Tin-Tin said quietly. "Are we ready to go?"

"We have company of the mechanical sort," Virgil explained. "When I give the word, open the door, then nip out to catch this... damn, it moved." He shook his head. "You'll know what it is when you see it."

"F-A-B," Tin-Tin replied, her tone sounding skeptical.

Virgil turned his attention back to his controls, and pressed the toggle switch. "Okay, here's mud in your automated eye."

xxxx

The picture of Thunderbird Two, taken just meters from the now-opaque windscreen suddenly went dark. There was a chorus of disappointed cries from most in Jason's room, except from Fermat and Alan, who exchanged glances, Fermat blowing a quiet, relieved breath.

xxxx

"It's about time," Scott muttered. He drained his beer, and got up to put the glass on the room service tray. "Dad's gonna skin you, Virge, when he finds out you waited so long."

xxxx

"It's about time," John stated flatly. "Dad's gonna skin you, Virgil. You shouldn't have waited so long."

"I didn't want anyone else picking this thing up." Virgil touched another switch. The chassis raised higher, leaving the passenger compartment on the ground. "Tin-Tin, you're good to go."

"F-A-B." Tin-Tin keyed in a sequence on a touch pad by the door, and it slid open, showing the expanse of runway and blue harbor beyond.

John's voice had a warning tone to it. "Virgil, what are you planning?"

Virgil turned his attention back to John. "I want to get hold of this thing and bring it back to base. There's probably a tweak or two in this version of the camera that Brains would like to see first hand." He grinned. "At least we know the countermeasure works."

"This isn't a good idea, Virgil." John said, fingers flying over the keyboard. "At least ask Dad for his opinion."

"All right," Virgil said with a stifled sigh. "Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two. Come in, Thunderbird One."

The vid picture had by this time returned to the studio. "We seem to have lost both visual and audio contact with Lisa and our new Action Cam," Ned said, a touch of puzzlement in his tone. "We'll try to establish a phone link with Lisa in a moment." He paused and glanced at the teleprompter. "In other news..."

Hickam's transports had come within yards of Thunderbird Two's sturdy hydraulic legs. Drivers, medics and military police were on hand to direct the disembarking civilians and uniformed personnel. Tin-Tin stood by, mostly watching, but lending a hand when it seemed necessary. The pregnant woman stopped briefly.

"Thank you for all you did today," she said. "You certainly were a tremendous help."

Tin-Tin shook the lady's hand with her own gloved one. "You're welcome. Have a good day."

"You, too."

As a medic guided the woman away, Tin-Tin heard Virgil ask, "Do you see it?"

"Not yet. I'm waiting for the crowd to clear. We don't need any stowaways." She began to scan the area. "Wait. I think I see it."

"Thunderbird One here, Virgil. Go ahead." Jeff had one eye on his instruments, and one on the patch of ocean where he supposed Gordon was. He knew Gordon was tired, as tired as he himself was, and that worried him.

"Dad, I've got a chance to pick up one of those action cams for Brains to study." Virgil sounded full of energy, which made Jeff feel worse. "What do you think I should do?"

The headline, "Thunderbirds Steal New Camera; IWN To Sue", flashed across Jeff's inner vision and he scowled. "Virgil, under no circumstances are you to steal that camera."

"But, Dad...!"

Jeff let go the steering yoke and quickly massaged the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in the process. "I repeat: do not steal that camera, mister. There are those who think we're a nuisance enough already; we do not need to willingly add fuel to that fire." He gave his head a little shake, and peered down at the floating radar station. There was a spot of yellow beneath the waves, becoming brighter and clearer as it rose to the choppy surface. "Now, Thunderbird Four has just surfaced; I need you back here ASAP. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a pause, and Virgil responded, his voice clearly conveying his frustration. "F-A-B, Thunderbird One. Thunderbird Two ETA your position, 45 minutes."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two. See you soon. Thunderbird One, out."

Beneath the hulking form of Thunderbird Two, Tin-Tin noticed that two military police officers had also found the silvery ball. One was crouching down to give it a closer look, while the other was calling someone on his radio. Tin-Tin glanced inside the pod to see that it was empty, and was about to hurry over when Virgil said, "Tin-Tin, don't worry about the camera. We've been ordered to leave it alone."

"F-A-B," she replied sounding puzzled.

"I'm lowering the chassis. I'll see you in the cockpit in a few." A loud beeping noise filled the air, and Virgil's voice, magnified and slightly distorted, called, "Please clear the area. Please clear the area. Preparing to retrieve the pod."

Tin-Tin watched one of the MPS look up, while the other reached for the camera, and got an idea.

As their attention was directed elsewhere, Tin-Tin grasped her crystal – which was hidden under her uniform – and focused on the ball. She thanked the stars that her helmet hid her eyes as she felt her power reach out, and grasp the camera. She nudged it just a bit, just far enough to put it out of reach... and squarely under Thunderbird Two's chassis. The officer that had been reaching for it found herself tugged on by her fellow MP, and they both retreated back to their transport.

Tin-Tin smiled as she pressed the code to close the door. Over the hum of Thunderbird Two settling around her, she thought she heard the satisfying crunch of metal and tinkling of glass. She keyed in the number sequence again, and this time the door opened to reveal the innards of the pod's structure. A short walk down the narrow corridor, and Tin-Tin climbed a service ladder that took her to the flight deck level, and the cockpit.

Tin-Tin strapped herself into the copilot's seat. "Have the military personnel backed off?"

"My cameras indicate they moved away just before I locked down the pod." Virgil paused, and glanced back at her, then returned to his controls. "Why? What happened?"

"It looked like the military police were about to seize the camera." She paused, thinking carefully about her next words; of the Tracy family household, the only ones she that knew her secret for sure were Alan and Fermat. If her parents suspected, they hadn't said anything; neither had Jeff, who may have put two and two together at the Bank of London. "Fortunately, it rolled under the chassis and they couldn't get to it in time." She smiled. "I think that it might have been crushed..."

Virgil's eyebrows were climbing for his hairline as he turned to her. He regarded her speculatively for a moment or two, then a grin slowly spread across his face.

"All set?" he asked.

She nodded. "F-A-B."

"Then let's head back to the rescue zone." Virgil began to power up the engines. "Hickam Tower, this is Thunderbird Two. We're ready for departure; thanks for the use of the runway."

xxxx

Alan and Fermat were hurrying up the walkway toward Maplewood, trying to beat the curfew bell. IWN had been unable to re-establish either voice or video link to Lisa Lowe before they left Jason's room. The Lewis brothers had gone back to Birchwood together, leaving Alan to walk his friend back.

"So, what do you think happened?" Alan buried his hands deeper into his jacket; the wind was cold and gray clouds moved slowly overhead, obscuring the stars and making the night look lighter than it was.

"P-Probably my d-d-d... my father found some way to t-turn the camera off." Fermat squinted a bit as he gazed at his friend. He felt that Alan's good mood had evaporated with the television report.

"I hope it keeps working," Alan muttered. "We don't need any more publicity."

"I know."

They arrived at the steps to Maplewood. "So, when does A.J. come back?"

"T-Tomorrow. I'll bring him u-up to speed on things."

Alan shrugged slightly. "Thanks. Scott's leaving tomorrow afternoon. He'll probably want to take us out to lunch or something, so don't make any plans."

"No p-problem." Fermat glanced up at the lighted doors. "Gotta go. T-Talk to you later."

"Yeah. Later."

The two boys turned to go their respective ways. Halfway up the steps, Fermat looked back. Alan was already heading away, his shoulders hunched up – whether in response to his mood or against the cold, Fermat couldn't tell. With a slow shake of his head and a heavy sigh, he climbed the rest of the stairs and went inside.

xxxx

"All right, boys," Jeff said, stretching and yawning. "I think that's everything." He glanced over at Virgil and Tin-Tin, who were seated side-by-side. "Pretty fortunate that the camera rolled under Two's chassis. I'm sure we'll hear something from IWN on the subject, but the fallout will be far from the legal and public relations mess we could be in."

"Why would we be in legal trouble?" Gordon answered, scowling. "I mean, we ask them not to photograph us..."

"But they still d-do," Brains explained. "H-Hence the camera f-f-f... disruptor."

"I still think it was fair game to grab the camera and bring it back for analysis," Virgil stated flatly.

Jeff shook his head. "We skirt along the edge of national boundaries, safety laws, child labor laws, environmental concerns, political agendas, and yes, public opinion. There is absolutely no reason why we should blatantly take something that does not belong to us." He took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "There are higher – and simpler – values at stake here, Virgil."

"Perhaps if you had reimbursed them for it?" Tin-Tin ventured, suddenly unsure of herself, of her actions.

"I may still have to, Tin-Tin," Jeff replied, grimacing. "Depends on whether or not IWN sees it as an accident. I can make a case – through our legal team – that their actions were a violation of our stated request for anonymity and privacy. And that those actions prompted us to create the countermeasure. But the destruction of the camera... well, they could see that as intentional, and possibly malicious." He shrugged, then shook his head. "I need to talk to Art Trumbull – might even have to bring him out here at some point."

He rubbed the back of his neck, and rolled his head around to ease tension. He looked at Gordon, who was nearly falling asleep in his chair. "Okay, boys... and lady. I think we're done here. Gordon, you look like I feel. Go take a hot shower or a dip in the Jacuzzi then go sleep in your bed."

Gordon roused as he was addressed. "F-A-B," he said with a sigh. He stood, groaning, then padded off to obey.

That was the cue for the others around the table to rise as well. Brains made a motion with his hand. "I h-have the data on the c-c-c... f-f-f... jammer's performance. I think you'll be p-p-pleased with it."

Jeff waved a hand, giving his engineer a slight smile. "Later, please, Brains, when I'm not feeling my age." Brains returned the request with a bob of his head and a nervous grin as he left the office. He was followed by Virgil, who had thrown a brotherly arm around Gordon's shoulder and was guiding his tired brother out.

Tin-Tin also left, walking slowly, glancing back at Jeff, a concerned expression on her face. Jeff didn't notice; he was busy with the computer screen on his desk. When she was out of his view, she let out a relieved breath and picked up her pace. She wasn't sure anymore that what she'd done was right, but she was certain of one thing; if she had to do it over again, she would have done things exactly the same way.

Jeff sat back in his chair, tapping a pencil on his chin. "John, I want any other information you may have received from Tim Casey. I'm sure this wasn't an accident; every fiber of my being says it was sabotage of some sort. I want a short list of who might find that installation a tempting target, and why." He focused on the smaller picture that resided in the upper right hand corner of his screen. "Scott, I want your impressions of the IWN coverage. John, I'd like yours, too."

Scott responded with "Sure, Dad," but John used the more formal, "F-A-B, Dad."

Jeff smiled. "When will you be home, Scott?"

"I've filed my flight plan, and I emailed you a copy. I want to take Alan and Fermat to lunch, then I'll head on out."

"It'll be good to have you back, son. Your baby doesn't like me very much anymore."

"Well, she knows who is really her master."

Father and sons shared a laugh, then Jeff remembered he had someone else he wanted to speak with. "I'll talk with you both later. Take care."

"See you soon, Dad." "Talk to you later, Dad."

The screen went blank, replaced a few moments later with a recent picture of Jeff and his family, the same one that Alan had in his wallet. Jeff sat quietly for a few long seconds, gazing at the photo, his eyes slightly unfocused. Then he leaned in and picked up the phone. "Penny's got connections in odd places; she might be able to help with this," he muttered as he speed-dialed a very familiar number.

_

* * *

_

Will Penny find out anything of interest? What's going on with Alan? How will lunch go? What will Sugi finally be charged with? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!


	65. Underlying issues, underlying support

_Author's note: _Scott heads for home. A surprising apology. Jeff frets about the camera. Alan gets an unexpected phone call. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board. I am working on the next chapter.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"I'm sorry I missed meeting your brother, Alan." A.J. didn't pause as he put away his clean, pressed clothing. "Did you and he have a good time?"

"Somewhat." Alan sat crosslegged on the floor, his math book in his lap. As predicted, Scott had taken Fermat and him out to an expensive lunch before returning the boys to campus. He had dropped Fermat off first, wanting a little time to talk with Alan, brother-to-brother.

"Are you going to be okay?" Scott had asked as they sat in the parking lot by the playing fields. "I mean, you've had a rough weekend..."

Alan didn't know what to say. Ever since Saturday evening, after the basketball game, he'd been tense, unhappy without really understanding why, and numb. Seeing his family on the televid had just made things worse, though he'd relaxed just a touch when it was clear the "action cam" had been dealt with. Now Scott was asking him a very important question, and he didn't know how to react. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I guess so."

"You guess so?" Scott's eyes searched Alan's face; the boy was looking down, out the window, anywhere but at Scott.

Alan sighed heavily, still refusing to meet his brother's gaze, looking instead at his hands, rubbing them together without conscious thought. "I just want this to be over. I want Sugi to go to jail and I never have to see him again or think about him again... ever. I want things to go back to the way they used to be."

Scott paused for a long moment, then reached out for Alan's shoulder. This got the boy's attention and he finally looked his brother in the eye. The mat of scabs and healing flesh on Alan's cheek blended into the shadows as he turned his head.

"I know how you feel, Alan. I really do." Scott spoke quietly, but with purpose. "I felt that way a lot after Mom died. I just... I just wished we could build a time machine, y'know? And go back to save her."

"You mean like the one that Doctor character has? In that old show John likes to watch?" Alan asked, a small, sad, lopsided smile on his face.

The tension broke a little as Scott laughed. "Yeah. Like that. Only cooler looking." He snorted another laugh, then calmed. "I thought, Dad's got all this money... he could build one, right?" Shaking his head, he added, softly, "I even asked Brains about it once, when Dad first brought him on board. He said the technology wasn't anywhere near advanced enough to do it. And that even if it were, the laws of physics say that you can't go back in time to a place before the machine was created. He also said that even if he could, he wasn't sure he could deal with the possible fallout of changing history... as much as he might have wanted to change it."

"That how I feel. I wish I could go back and change things. Stop it all from happening." Alan clenched his fists. "But it's impossible."

Scott nodded. "You're right; it _is_ impossible. We can't go back. We have to move forward, or..."

"Or?"

Scott swallowed before he answered. "Or we keep living in the past." There was a small pause. "Don't get me wrong; the past is a great place to visit from time to time. But living there... not cool. Definitely not cool. You can go crazy living in the past."

The pair sat silent for a few moments. Alan thought about what Scott had said, while Scott tried to anticipate his brother's next comment. When the quiet began to stretch a bit too long, Scott shifted in his seat.

"You can call me, y'know. Any time you want. For no reason at all. I'll always be there for you, Al. Always."

Alan glanced over at his brother, and gave him another wan smile. "I know, Scott."

Scott smiled. "C'mere," he said and reached over to give Alan an awkward, heartfelt hug. He murmured, "I love you, kid," into Alan's ear before letting go. Even so, he kept a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Now. Are you going be okay?"

This time, Alan nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, Scott. I'm gonna be okay."

"Good." Scott moved his hand up to muss his brother's hair before pulling back.

"Hey!" Alan ran his hand through his hair in attempt to smooth it back, then reached for his brother's head. Scott leaned back, out of the way.

"Not today, Sprout!" he called, grinning.

Alan put a knee on his seat, levering himself up so he could reach further. "Don't call me Sprout!"

Scott's hands went up in a defensive move, trying to protect his own coif. "Okay, then. Not today, Pinky!"

Despite Scott's efforts, Alan managed to get a hand in and ruffle his brother's hair before withdrawing. "You need a haircut."

"So do you, Pinky. Wish I'd had time to take you to the barber." Scott glanced at the clock. "Damn. I've got to go if I'm going to stick to my flight plan." He started up the car. "I'll drop you off behind your dorm..."

Alan had already opened his door. "Nah, I'm okay, Scott. I'll walk back. It'll give me time to clear my head."

"Are you sure?" Scott asked, a slight frown on his face.

"Yeah. I'm sure." There was another uncomfortable pause between them, one that Alan broke. "You fly safely, and email me or something when you get home, okay?"

"I'll do that," Scott replied. "And I'll come out to one of your meets, soon. I promise."

"I'll hold you to it."

Alan stepped back, onto the walkway that surrounded the parking lot as Scott backed the car out of the parking space. They waved at each other, then Scott was gone, zooming off down the access road. Alan watched for a moment, then jammed his hands in his jacket pockets and sauntered off toward his dorm. He found himself whistling Scott's ringtone as he walked. The tension had abated, and the numb unhappiness had faded into a warm, mellow feeling. His brother loved him and had his back; even if he wasn't present, he was only a phone call away. He pushed the unpleasant events of the weekend aside, and went to get his math book.

"Ahem."

Alan looked up, startled by Fermat's deliberately loud throat-clearing. "Oh." He shook his head. "Sorry about that. I was lost in thought."

"I could tell," Fermat replied, his tone one of dry amusement. "Easy for you to get l-lost in there; you d-don't know your way a-around." Seated at his own desk, A.J. snickered.

"Har har, very funny," Alan riposted. "Are we gonna work on this math or not?"

"Now that you've f-found your way out... yeah. Let's w-w-w... do it."

xxxx

"I will do my best, Jeff," Penelope said. Her hair was perfectly styled and she wore a designer evening dress, one meant for a formal social function. "But my contacts in military intelligence are few and far between."

"Even the smallest whiff of intel you can find will be welcome, Penny." Jeff nodded, his expression serious. "I need to know if the SBX was targeted for its own sake or to bring us out to the rescue."

"I quite understand. I will have Parker make inquiries among his own contacts, too. The underworld grapevine often uncovers information that the military would rather keep secret."

"Good plan, Penny." Jeff settled back and smiled. He appreciated the décolletage presented in Penelope's image. "It looks like you have a previous appointment. I won't keep you any longer."

Penny smiled, and blushed slightly. "Thank you, Jeff. I am attending a benefit ball for Rowden House School, a school for children with special needs." She waved a gloved hand. "Many confuse it with my own finishing school, but it is a far, far better cause to espouse." She frowned, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her elegantly shaped eyebrows. "Especially after that recent incident."

Jeff grinned. "Of course. Enjoy yourself and I'll talk with you later."

Her face cleared, and she gave him a sweet smile. "Au revoir, Jeff."

The image winked out and the window closed on Jeff's computer screen. He sighed. The rescue of the radar platform still niggled at him. _Was it meant to bring us out for some reason? If so, by whom and why? Was it an attack on the SBX itself? Was it sabotage? Gordon seemed to think it wasn't due to equipment failure. Will we be getting more calls of this type? I doubt we'd be hearing anything more through public channels; all that the military is saying publicly is that it's "under investigation"_. He rubbed the back of his neck as he made his way to the kitchen. _I hope we can get some answers; it just feels so wrong to me._

"Good morning, Mr. Tracy," Onaha said cheerfully as he entered the dining area. "Would you like coffee or juice this morning?"

"Good morning, Onaha. Some of both, please." Jeff sat down as she poured some juice into a tall glass.

"Pineapple mango this morning," she told him. "I'll be right back with the coffee and pancakes."

He smiled at her, murmuring his thanks. Kyrano came up on Jeff's other side.

"While you were on the phone with her Ladyship, Mr. Scott called. He is on his way back to the island."

"Thanks, Kyrano. Did he say anything about Alan?"

Kyrano shook his head. "He gave me no details other than Mr. Alan was in good spirits when he left. He expects to arrive here around four this afternoon, with a stop in Mumbai for fuel."

"Sounds good, Kyrano. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Mr. Tracy."

The retainer slipped away as Gordon came to the table, hair wet from an early swim. "Hey, Kyrano," he called, catching the man's attention. Kyrano replied with a wave, and disappeared into the foliage. "Good morning, Dad."

"Good morning, Gordon. Feeling rested?" Jeff gave Onaha a smile as she put a tall stack of pancakes before him. "Thanks, Onaha. These look great."

"Yeah, much better." Gordon sat back as Onaha greeted him and offered him juice. "No coffee for me today, Onaha. The juice will be fine."

"The pot will still be hot when you change your mind," she said, a knowing look on her face. She put the juice pitcher down on the table, and went back to the kitchen.

"I'm not gonna change my mind," Gordon groused. Jeff snorted a quiet laugh, and began to eat.

Brains came to the table and sat down across from Gordon. "G-Good morning."

"Good morning, Brains," Jeff said between bites. Gordon echoed the greeting as Brains settled a napkin on his lap.

"A-Any news from Wharton?" Brains asked, pouring a glass of juice for himself.

"Not really," Jeff replied. "Scott is on his way home. I'm sure we'll hear all about what went on when he arrives. I'll give Alan a call a little later."

Onaha appeared, putting a plate of pancakes before Gordon. "Good morning, Brains. Coffee or tea this morning?"

"Tea, p-please."

She smiled, nodded, and headed out of the room once more. Those around the table fell quiet; the only sounds were the clatter of silverware and the occasional sound of appreciation. Virgil shuffled in, greeting the others with a half-hearted wave and a sleepy grunt. Onaha breezed in again, pancakes in one hand, teapot in the other. "I'll get you some coffee, Virgil."

"Thanks," was all Virgil could muster up.

Brains poured himself a cup of properly brewed tea. "When do you w-want to talk about the d-data from the c-c-c... new equipment?"

"After breakfast will be good, Brains," Jeff said. "John recorded the broadcast footage, so we should be good as far as seeing how close it got. Virgil. We'll need the security camera images from Thunderbird Two."

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked them open. "Sure thing, Dad," he said, his voice still thick with sleepiness.

Onaha came in with the coffee pot. She freshened Jeff's nearly empty cup and poured one for Virgil. He inhaled deeply of the steam and sighed with pleasure. Before she could go back to the kitchen, however, Gordon cleared his throat.

"Um, Onaha? Could you pour me some coffee, too, please?"

Jeff chuckled and Onaha favored Gordon with a knowing smile.

xxxx

His math homework done, Alan felt restless. He took his book back to his room. Dom glanced up and greeted him. "Got your work done?"

"Yeah. The math, at least." He started to change his clothes. "I'll catch the rest later. I need to work off some energy."

"Where're you going?"

Alan paused. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do, but he knew it had to be physical. He finished pulling off his shirt, and felt a twinge in his shoulder. That gave him an idea.

"The weight room. The doc gave me some exercises; with Scott here and everything that went down Saturday..." He shrugged. "Just haven't had time to do them."

Dom nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Alan finished changing into workout clothes, and said goodbye to his roommate. He hesitated in the lobby, checking to see if anyone was going toward the gym. There didn't seem to be anyone, so he left on his own. _At least Dom knows where I'm headed_, he thought. _So if anything should happen..._ The thought made him draw in a deep sharp breath, and with an effort, he pushed aside the memories of his ordeal.

The weight room was occupied, but it wasn't busy. He hung his jacket on a hook, and pulled from a pocket the pages describing the exercises he was to do. The door opened behind him, a blast of cold autumn air swirled around him.

"Hey, Tracy." The voice was non-committal, a greeting without either pleasure or distaste. Alan turned to see who it was.

"Hi, Carter." Alan's tone was tinged with surprise.

If John Carter noticed, he made no mention of it. "Haven't seen you down here before," he said, not looking at Alan as he hung up his gym bag and jacket.

"Been a bit busy lately." Alan pointed to the papers in his hand. "Doctor gave me some exercises to do for my shoulder. Finally have time to actually do them."

The other boy glanced at the papers then nodded. "Good call. I had physical therapy once; doing the exercises helped."

"Yeah."

Having nothing more to say, Alan turned to walk away. He stopped when he heard Carter clear his throat and say, "Uh, Tracy?"

Alan turned and glanced back. Carter was looking at him with an indecipherable expression. He shrugged a little. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what I said the other day. I was out of line, and Zave made sure I knew it." He moistened his lips. "I saw you jumping at practice the other day; you're good. We need you on the team."

"Thanks. For the apology and the compliment." Alan turned away again, but Carter called him back.

"Hey. You need some help with those exercises or something? I could use a spotter... maybe we could help each other out here." John's face held a hopeful expression.

Alan paused, considering the offer, then smiled a little and nodded. "Yeah. I could use the help. And I can spot you while you work out."

"Cool. Let me get my gear around, and we'll work on your exercises first."

xxxx

Alan rolled his shoulder, feeling no pain from the movement. The exercises had helped there; he made a mental note to continue them faithfully. Once he'd finished the required drill, he helped Carter by spotting him on the weights and counting repetitions. Then he went on to do some strength training for his lower body. The workout had felt good; he'd been able to channel the remaining tension from the weekend into the exertion.

Once back in his dorm room, Alan opted to raid his snack stash instead of eating dinner, and he talked his roommate into doing the same. Both boys settled down into a companionable quiet, interrupted only by an occasional slurp or less than quiet crunch, as each did his homework. Alan was almost finished with his Spanish assignment when a tune rang out, sounding much louder than usual.

"It's my dad," Alan said as he reached for his phone. "I'll take it somewhere else."

"Thanks!" Dom turned back to his work, but reached up to tug on his roommate's sleeve just before Alan stepped out of the room. "Tell him 'Hi', and 'Thanks for the video' from me."

Alan nodded, and opened up the phone. "Hi, Dad."

"No visual today, son?"

"Maybe once I get settled somewhere out of the way. Dom and I were working on our homework, and I didn't want to disturb him."

"No problem." Jeff stretched himself out in a poolside lounger and settled his netbook across his thighs. The earpiece was settled in comfortably. "So, how are you doing?"

"I'm okay." Alan found the stairs, remembering where he'd found Fermat before, and decided to follow his friend's example. "Dom says hello and thanks for the video."

Jeff chuckled. "I just hope he can use it. Give him my regards."

Alan finished jogging to the top landing, and slid to the wooden floor, sitting with his back to the wall and his knees drawn up. "Man, it's dark up here," he muttered. He plugged in his earpiece, and grinned at seeing his father's picture. In a far more cheerful voice, he asked, "So, is Scott home yet?"

"No, not yet." Jeff pulled up a tab that showed Scott's itinerary. "Looks like he's finished refueling in Mumbai and should be wheels up in a bit. I don't expect him home for a few more hours."

Alan snorted. "Figures. And I forgot to ask him about his hot date last night."

"Date?" Jeff straightened a bit, giving his youngest his full attention. "He didn't mention anything about a date."

"Oh yeah!" Alan grinned. "He had a date with one of the workers here. Sable de la Croix is her name. Very goth. I introduced him to her, and they sat together during practice on Friday. He had to leave our basketball game Saturday afternoon to take her out. Didn't hear a peep about her today."

"Sable de la Croix?" Jeff's tone was of amused incredulity, and one eyebrow climbed toward his hairline. "Sounds like an interesting girl. I'll be sure to ask him about her when he gets home." His voice sobered, and so did his expression. "How did things go otherwise?"

Alan leaned his head against the wall and sighed deeply. "It... I... he wanted me to lie for him, Dad. About what happened the night Erik..." He swallowed. "He... blamed the steroids for what he did. He said he didn't start the rumor about Fermat and..." He sighed again and his shoulders slumped. "He blamed everyone and everything but himself."

Jeff wished he could reach through the camera to touch his son, to reassure him, to reassure himself of Alan's well-being. "I wish I'd been there, Alan."

"I kinda wish you had been, too." Alan's confession startled Jeff. "Don't get me wrong; Scott was great. He was there when I needed him. But... it wasn't the same as you being here." The boy shrugged. "You're not going to be there all the time; I realize that. And it's good to know that Scott has my back, too." There was a pause, and abruptly, he changed the subject. "What's going on with that camera thing?"

He'd been ready to talk more with Alan about the confrontation with Sugi, so his son's sudden derailment of the topic took Jeff by surprise. An eyebrow rose, but he gamely changed subject. _I can ask Scott for his impressions when he gets home._ Jeff cleared his throat. "I take it you saw the video IWN was able to get?"

"Yeah. I did." Alan frowned. "Shouldn't Virgil have had the tint activated already?"

"Yes, he probably should have. But he'd been flying from a stormy area and didn't anticipate the camera." Jeff found himself both echoing Virgil's reasoning, and using it as a defense. "We're making use of the tint SOP for all the Thunderbirds when parked in a public space."

"Man, was I ever relieved when the picture went out. How'd Brains come up with a countermeasure so fast?"

Jeff smiled slightly. "He'd been thinking about the problem since South Africa, then he got Dr. Sugimoto's plans to work from, so not only was he able to block transmission but he was able to knock out the motive power." He shifted his position slightly. Gordon walked by, ready for another swim, Tin-Tin at his side. Virgil followed, hurrying to catch up. "Hey, boys... and lady. Want to say hello to Alan?"

"Yeah!" "Sure!" "Of course!" Jeff turned the netbook around, then disconnected his earpiece, transferring the mike and sound to the computer.

"Hey, Sprout!" "Hi, Alan!" "Hello, Alan. You look much better!"

Alan grinned. "Hi, guys! Going for a swim?"

"What do you think?" Virgil asked. He held out his arms. "I don't need any more tan, thank you very much."

"I'm finished with my classes for the day and I've agreed to referee a water polo match between these two," Tin-Tin told him.

"Match?" Gordon quipped. "More like a massacre." He grunted as Virgil elbowed him in the ribs.

Alan held his smile as a pang of homesickness shot through him. He could almost smell the tropical blooms and the sea breeze with its briny scent. He could just about feel the moist heat and the cool shade surrounding the pool. His brothers looked relaxed and ready for fun, while Tin-Tin looked as she always had... at ease, at home, and like one of the gang. He wished he were there with them, and said so.

"Well, you can always go swimming in the school pool," Gordon suggested. "You won't have a referee as pretty as the one we've got... hey!" Tin-Tin had smacked the back of his head.

"Swimming's a good idea. I'll have to make time for it." Alan said, his tone a bit wistful. He glanced up as the warning bell rang. "Hey, I should go. Let me talk to Dad again, please."

"See ya, Sprout!" "Talk to you later, Alan." "Have a good week, Alan."

Jeff turned the netbook to face him again, and activated his earpiece. "Is there anything you need, Alan?"

The boy shook his head. "Nah. Just tell Scott to email me or something when he gets home. I want to know he got there safe."

"I'll do that." Jeff paused. "I love you, son."

Alan nodded. "I know. I love you, too, Dad."

"We'll be out to see a track meet soon, okay?"

"Looking forward to it, Dad. First one for me is this weekend." Now that it was time to part, Alan was loathe to end the conversation.

Jeff chuckled. "I'll see what I can do. Have a good week, Alan."

"Thanks, Dad. Talk to you later."

Cutting the connection on his end, Jeff sighed. He glanced over at the splashing, laughing trio without really seeing them. Checking Scott's itinerary again – and seeing that his eldest was wheels up, headed for home – he put the netbook in hibernation mode, and carried it off with him to the office. Normally, he'd call John and talk to him about what Alan was going through, but sometimes, he admitted to himself, a guy just had to talk to his mother.

Alan snapped his phone shut with a sigh, then pushed himself to his feet. He hadn't really known how to express to his dad all that had gone through his mind during that hellish interview with Lee Sugimoto, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. After all, there was nothing that either of them could do about it; the only thing left to do was wait and see what actions the lawyers and the courts decided to take.

He rolled his shoulders and yawned as he padded down the steps. The idea of swimming at Wharton didn't appeal to him; he wasn't used to the strong smell of chlorine and the big, echoing natatorium. Still, maybe after a workout... He left the thought hanging as he came to his door.

"Hey," Dom said as Alan entered the room. "Did you have a good talk?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. It was good. I think I'd better finish up my homework. Won't have time to do it in the morning." He smiled. "It feels good to be back on the team."

_

* * *

Will Scott tell the family about his date? Will Penny find anything about the SBX? What will Grandma say? What will Sugi finally be charged with? And will Alan be able to compete? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	66. Unfailing Encouragement

_Author's note: _Grandma weighs in with Jeff and Alan. Brains plans a trip. Scott is ambushed. Jason gets a letter. Gordon is discussed. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff sauntered down to the dining room, feeling relieved. His talk with his mother had eased his mind considerably.

"He's going through some of the same things you did when Lucy died." The woman with the short, salt-and-pepper hair and the fashionable bifocals had told him. "Not exactly the same thing, or to the same depth, of course, but there's a lot of grief and hurt inside him that will eventually come out. What you need to do is be there for him. I know it's hard when you're so far apart, and you can't physically be there with him, but phone calls and emails and reassurances that you'll listen to what he says, no matter how hard it is for him to say it, will go a long way in helping."

"Can you give him a call or drop him a line? I'm sure he'll want to hear from you, too." Jeff smiled at her, a weary expression

Grandma Tracy huffed. "I've already written him twice since this all happened. Land sakes, you'd think that boy never checks his mailbox."

Jeff laughed. "So, send him an email. It's not that hard, Ma. I know he checks that."

She sniffed. "I'll think about it. Not that I'm a Luddite or anything, it's just that I think letters written on paper are more personal, and more cherished. Plus, I have to think about what to say before I put it on paper. I end up editing my emails so much that I just send them in frustration, without saying half of what I mean to say. And I don't like that!"

By the time he'd replayed the conversation in his mind, Jeff found himself at his destination. Brains was already there, squeezing lemon into his iced tea. Scott came in, hair slicked down from his shower. He'd been home about an hour and a half or so, and with post-flights checks to be done, this was the first Jeff had seen of him.

"Hello, son," he said as Onaha brought in the salad. "How was your flight?"

"Long, especially when flying solo. I can see why you want to make that trip as seldom as possible." Scott settled his napkin on his knee as Virgil and Gordon joined them. The brothers greeted each other, sat down, and began to pass the salad around.

"Y-Yes, it is a l-l-l... quite a flight," Brains said, sipping his drink. "I p-plan on making it this w-w-w... Thursday. I w-want to see F-F-F... my son."

"You didn't say anything about this before, Brains." Jeff's tone was one of mild censure.

Brains met his employer's gaze steadily. "I didn't d-decide until just th-th... after lunch." He took another sip, then put the glass down. "I w-want it to be a surprise."

Jeff looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged a bit. "Well, it's fine with me. I don't think I can spare the time, though."

Virgil looked eager. "Will you want someone to co-pilot, Brains?"

"Oh yeah! It'll be the Squirt's first track meet! Can I copilot?" Gordon put his hands together in supplication, giving Brains his best "begging puppy" eyes. "Oh, please, Brains! Let me come with you! Pleasepleasepleaseplease!"

Scott rolled his eyes, while Virgil swatted at his younger brother. "Hey! I asked first!" he said. He turned to smile winningly at Brains. "I'd be happy to copilot with you, Brains. And I wouldn't be half the pain in the neck that Gordon would be."

"No, you'd be double the trouble!" Gordon riposted. "Please, Brains!"

Brains sighed, and glanced over at Jeff, a silent "get me out of this" in his eyes. "I'll let your f-f-f... Jeff be the judge of who he can sp-sp-spare."

Jeff snorted a laugh. "We can discuss it after dinner, Brains." He swallowed a bite of salad, and said casually, "So, Scott. Tell me all about this date you had."

Heads snapped around, and widened eyes stared at Scott. "Date? You went to _Wharton_ and had a _date_?" Gordon asked, incredulous, nearly dropping the bread basket as he passed it to Brains.

Virgil moaned. "A date... God, I've forgotten what one of those was."

Scott glanced around at his fellow diners, a confused frown on his face. Brains merely gave him a speculative look, saying nothing. Jeff hid his smile behind the rim of his drinking glass.

"Wait, wait." Scott said, pointing his fork at his father. "Where'd you hear...?" His face cleared with understanding. "Oh, I get it. You talked to Alan."

Before Jeff could say anything, Gordon leaned over. "So, what's his name? I hope he's legal... don't want ol' Scott here to rob the cradle..."

"She." Scott said firmly. "My date was female. And of age."

"Yes, a young lady with the rather flowery name of Sable de la Croix, according to your brother." Jeff kept his eyes on his food, still feigning indifference.

"Sable _what_?" Virgil asked, openmouthed. "Who names their kid _that_?"

Scott snorted. "I don't think that's her real name. She's into the theater... it's probably her stage name."

"Ah, I see. You went out with an actress." Gordon nodded slowly, a knowing look on his face. "Don't actresses have a reputation...?"

"I b-believe they do," Brains said, finally adding his bit to the teasing. "Not a very n-nice one, either."

"Oh, no. No, you don't. You're not going there." Scott shook his head firmly. "We went to dinner. She was called away to 'duty', whatever that was. We never even got to the movie."

"Still, how did you manage to score a date - with a female, no less - at _Wharton_?" Gordon chewed a piece of green pepper.

"Wharton needs workers. They hire people. Sometimes they even hire women." Scott stabbed a bit of carrot as if it had offended him.

"So, she w-works there?" Brains asked.

"Yeah, Brains. She does." Scott modified his tone when speaking to Brains. He was, after all, not a pestiferous little brother.

"But she couldn't have been a teacher," Gordon said. "I mean, I can't see any of them being young enough to catch your fancy."

"And Alan did mention she was, and I quote, 'very Goth'," Jeff added.

"So, let's do a little deductive reasoning here." Virgil rubbed his chin, looking off toward the ceiling. "She's probably not old enough to be a teacher."

"And too G-Goth to work in the a-a-administration building." Brains drained his iced tea, and poured himself another glass. "Mrs. B-Belvedere wouldn't st-st-st... allow it."

"Too true, Brains, too true!" Jeff stated, nodding sagely. "That leaves... let's see... maintenance?"

Gordon nodded. "And the laundry."

"The kitchen?" This was from Onaha, who was listening to the byplay as she brought out the main course.

Scott sighed. "Okay, okay. The kitchen - she works in the kitchen."

"Doing what?" Virgil asked, trying to sound pseudo-supportive. "I mean, to think that my brother might be dating... a lunch lady..."

Gordon cracked up, howling with laughter. Scott gave first him, then Virgil a look that would have killed them both right there on the spot, if such things could happen.

"I d-don't think I h-heard your answer, S-S-Scott." Brains was trying hard not to crack a smile.

"I didn't give one, Brains. But if the hyena here will shut up for a minute..."

Virgil gave Gordon a swift nudge to the ribs. "Quiet, you! I want to hear this!" Gordon took a few deep breaths, then drank off the contents of his tumbler, slowing his laughter to an occasional hiccup-like gasp.

Scott surveyed the all-too-interested faces surrounding him and sighed. "She works in the kitchen as a dishwasher."

This time Virgil joined Gordon in chortling at their older brother's discomfort. Jeff chuckled, and said, "Very classy, Scott."

"Hey! She is classy, in a weird kinda dramatic sort of way," Scott protested. "And she's responsible, too. Could have joined Alan, Fermat and me for dinner Friday night, but she said she had to work."

"You mean, she turned down a chance to be with you... to wash dishes?" Gordon's mouth dropped open.

All the men around the table laughed until Onaha came in with a fresh pitcher of iced tea. She poured a glass for Jeff and said, somewhat sharply, "It's no reflection on Scott that a young woman takes her responsibilities to her employer seriously."

"Thank you, Onaha!" Scott said in a fervent tone. Onaha smiled at him, patted him on the shoulder, and took the empty carafe away.

The laughter eased for a few moments. Brains took the opportunity to ask, "H-How did you m-meet this Sable d-de la Croix?"

"Alan told me he introduced them," Jeff explained.

"Yeah, that's right. He did." A slow smile spread over Scott's face. "In fact, when he introduced her, I had just caught them doing something very... interesting outside the gym."

The other diners glanced at each other, eyebrows rising. "Define 'interesting'," Jeff challenged.

"Well," Scott drawled, "let's just say she was... pandering to Alan's vanity."

This announcement brought frowns and confused looks around the table. "Care to explain further?" Jeff asked.

Scott's eyes widened, and the smile became a wolfish grin. "Better than that, I'll show you." He fished around in his shorts pockets. "Good thing I'm a creature of habit," he muttered as he pulled out his cell phone. Opening it, he pushed a few buttons, nodded, and handed it to Jeff. "There. That's what I mean."

Jeff frowned at the picture. "I don't see what's so special..." He handed the phone to Gordon. "What do you think?"

Gordon shrugged. "I dunno." He looked up at Scott and his eyes narrowed. "It's Alan. So what?"

Scott sighed and rolled his eyes in response. "Don't you _ever_ check your texts, Gords?" He put his hand out for the phone.

"Let me see." Virgil grabbed it from Gordon just as his brother reached out to give it back to its owner. "Yeah. This is the picture you sent me with the text..." His eyes widened in revelation. "Now I get it! Make up! Alan's wearing make up!"

"Yes! Finally!" Scott curled his hand up into a fist and shook it. "Light dawns on Marblehead!"

"M-May I?" Brains asked, holding out a hand. Virgil gave him the phone. The engineer regarded the picture critically. "She d-does good w-w-w... she's good. Looks n-normal; all the d-damage is c-covered. Very sm-smooth."

"Let me see that again." Scott retrieved his phone and handed it to his father. "Ah, yes. I see it now," Jeff admitted,. chuckling. "Don't know why I didn't see it before." He gave the instrument back to his son. "So, she put make up on his face—for pictures, I gather."

"Yes. And the payment for her services?" Scott grinned. His shoulders straightened; he seemed to swell a little as he said smugly, "Being introduced to me!"

"She got the short end of the stick, I'd say," Gordon quipped.

There was a moment of startled silence, then everyone at the table burst into laughter. Scott sighed and shook his head once again, muttering, "No respect. Just no respect at all."

xxxx

Monday morning saw Alan eating breakfast then running with the team. The chilled, damp morning air felt good on his skin, though by the end of the run he wished he'd worn some kind of hat. He took a shower in the locker room, and powerwalked his way to his first class. The warmth of the classroom hit him like a steam bath.

"Is it me, or is it hot in here?" he murmured to Fermat as he took his seat.

"It's h-h-h... extra warm," groused the younger boy. "It's like they think i-i-it's w-w-winter, already."

"Well, it has been pretty cold," Alan admitted as he pulled out his books.

"Not if you a-ask A.J." Fermat found his math class notes folder and opened it, creating a new file with an appropriate date on it. "He says it's just, and I qu-quote, 'a beautiful a-autumn m-morning'."

Alan snorted and shook his head. "You did tell him that where we live, it's spring right now, didn't you?"

The younger boy opened his mouth to reply, but closed it as Mr. Graboski rose to begin the day's lessons.

That was the beginning of a soothingly normal week, where, it seemed, everything fell into a proper, barely interrupted routine. Alan ran with the team in the mornings, had practice after classes, then a session in the weight room not long after dinner. Sometimes he and John Carter would work together; sometimes Xavion would be available to exchange spotting duties. Fermat ate with his team on their practice day, and fulfilled his obligation to the yearbook staff, having his picture taken as scheduled.

The near constant level of activity kept Alan from dwelling on Sugi and all that had happened over the past weeks. He checked his mailbox on Thursday to find two letters from his grandmother mixed in with all the official paperwork and a couple of get-well cards: one from a teacher at his former school, and, oddly enough, one from a cousin on his mother's side.

His grandmother's letters included a lot of comfort, and Alan smiled, feeling her warming presence as he walked back to his dorm. But as he read further, his smile faded.

J_ust remember, Alan, that what happened to you will leave its mark. Not just the physical scars you'll bear—though hopefully a reputable plastic surgeon can deal with those. There'll be wounds that go deeper, and last longer, if you don't actively work on healing them. This may mean some counseling; it will definitely mean keeping in touch with the family and being honest with them about how you feel. Burying it deep in your psyche won't help; I know that from personal experience. Unfortunately, it's what we Tracys tend to do. Push it way down deep, pretend we're okay, even when we're not. It's what your father did when your mother died, and it wasn't until he got some help, and was honest with himself, that he began to grieve and heal._

Alan closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to control his tears. He was partially successful; his eyes only got moist, and no droplets fell as he blinked.

_So don't shut out the family. I'm only a phone call away, and it's not so hard to calculate the time zone either! I'm even on the same day you are! Your father will expect you to call him and talk to him about things, as will John, and even Scott. And if you feel that life is overwhelming you, go talk to whoever the health professional is at Wharton. They'll have the names of some counselors you can unburden yourself to. Or ask your dad who counseled him. Just don't bottle it all up, okay, sweetie?_

"Okay, Grandma," he murmured, sniffling.

"Hey, Pinky! Wait up!" A shout and running footsteps made Alan turn. Jason was sprinting towards him, a piece of paper waving in one hand. He stopped and waited for his friend.

"Hey, Jase," Alan said as Jason caught up. He nodded toward the paper. "Whatcha got there?"

Jason grinned. "A letter! A letter from my parents!"

Alan couldn't see what was so exciting at first, then he remembered where Jason's parents were. "That's great, Jase."

"They can't email me too often; there's no good internet connection where they are. And phone calls are a bear." Jason chattered as he fell into step with Alan. "One of the nurses returning home brought this with them and put it in the US mail for my folks." He shrugged. "Mail service isn't the best out there, either, and sometimes the authorities—or just some greedy person in their post office—will steal postcards or open letters... especially if they contain something like this!" Jason flashed a memory card at Alan.

Alan was still hung up on the idea that someone would steal postcards, and it took a minute for him to realize what Jason was holding. "A memory card?" He nodded at the device. "What's on it?"

Jason's grin grew wider. "Pictures! And maybe if I'm lucky, a video."

Even though Alan couldn't see for himself what was so exciting, he smiled anyway. "Hey! That sounds cool. Can we watch it? It'd be nice to sorta 'meet' your folks."

"You'd want to watch it?" Jason's voice showed his surprise. "I mean, no one's ever wanted to before. There might not even be one, just still shots."

"Yeah, I'd like to see it, or see the pictures if there's no video." Alan spread his hands. "My dad's been here, and so has Scott. My other brothers might show up this year, too. But your parents... what's the chance of us meeting them this year?"

The look Jason gave him was thoughtful. "I see your point." Nodding, he added, "Let me look at them first; sometimes there's stuff that I'd like to keep private... if you know what I mean."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know." He glanced back down at his grandmother's letter, then proceeded to fold it up and slip it back into the envelope.

His action got his friend's attention. "You got a letter, too?"

"Yeah, I did. Two, in fact. From my grandma."

"Does she live with the rest of your family?"

They stopped in front of Birchwood. Alan shook his head. "Nah. She lives in Kansas, which is where I lived just after my mother died. She helped raise me... at least, until we moved to the island."

"Think she'll come out and see you sometime?" Jason tucked his letter and memory card into a pocket of his backpack.

Alan's face went from a startled "Hey, I never thought of that" to an excited "What a great idea!" in a matter of seconds. "Y'know, I think if I invited her to a game, she just might come." He grinned and clapped Jason on the shoulder. "Thanks, Jase! That's a great idea!"

Jason laughed. "Glad to help!" He glanced at his watch. "I'd better hurry up and get my homework done, then call my grandpa. Need to find out if he got a letter, and if he needs the pictures."

"Right." Alan started to mount the stairs. "Thanks again, Jase. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow!"

With a wave, Jason hurried off, greeting and falling in step with someone else he knew. Alan finished climbing the stairs, and went to his room. Dom wasn't there, and Alan sighed, a sound mixed of equal parts disappointment and relief. He put his backpack away, and pulled out his mail again, opening up the letter from Kansas.

_I miss you and your brothers, and yes, even your father. I wish we weren't so far apart. But a tropical island is no place for an old woman, and as for your father and brothers... well, Kansas is pretty flat and everyone knows everyone else's business, if you know what I mean. So we're just where we should be right now, as are you, young man. Despite all that has happened to you out there, I truly believe you are in just the right place, at just the right time. _

_Enjoy these days as much as you can, Alan. They will never come again._

_All my love and kisses,_

_Grandma_

Alan smiled softly, and sighed. He had to admit that he hadn't given much thought to his grandmother in a while. He had been so focused on becoming a Thunderbird, and trying to mend fences with his father, that the woman who had given him so much when he was little had been pushed aside in his mind and heart. Now a pang of guilt stung him. _She called herself an old woman,_ Alan realized. _I never thought of her that way, but she is getting older, and someday, she won't be here. There's a lot I need to tell her..._

He booted up his computer and sat down, waiting for the machine to finish coming to life. Suddenly, he frowned at the letter, a thoughtful expression, then his face cleared and he nodded decisively. Pushing aside the device and making room on his desk, he pulled a piece of paper out of his printer, and a pen from his backpack. Slowly, using his best penmanship, he began to write.

_Dear Grandma..._

xxxx

"So, Pinky," Zave set his breakfast tray down across the table from Alan. "Tomorrow's the big day."

Alan lowered his glass of milk, wiping his lips with a napkin. "Tell me about it. A home game, too." He huffed out a little breath, and shivered a little. "Getting goose bumps here."

"You'll be fine, Tracy," John Carter sat down next to Xavion. "How's the shoulder?"

Rotating the joint a little, Alan nodded. "Feels good. Got an appointment next Friday with the doctor. Hope to be fully cleared."

"Quiz team has a home game this week, too." Julio Estevez parked himself next to Alan. "Think we might get done a little early tonight? I'd like to check out the only undefeated team Wharton's got."

"Wait until basketball season," Zave said, smugly. "We'll bring home the title... again."

The others at the table groaned, and threw wadded up napkins at their captain. "Keep your mind on the track, Lewis," Jameson said. "Get through this track season and then think about the hoops."

"You're on the basketball team, too, Zave?" Alan asked, before chomping down on his toast.

"Yeah. I am. But I'm not the captain... or at least, I wasn't." Zave shrugged. "I suppose they might vote me in since this year's captain was pulled from school."

"They're even going to have a special tryout for the team in a couple of weeks," Julio said. "They lost too many players." He nudged Alan. "You should try out."

Alan shrugged. "I might. I'll give it some thought, anyway." He paused long enough to finish his milk. "How about the swim team? How are they doing this year?"

"They're still practicing for competition, which starts in December, I think." John tilted his head, gazing at Alan thoughtfully. "Thinking of following big brother into the water?"

"Big brother? Water?" Julio asked, looking from John to Alan. "What's this about?"

"My brother, Gordon, went to Wharton, too. He was on the swim team," Alan explained. He finished his last bite of fruit, and wiped his mouth and hands.

"He was more than _on_ the swim team. He practically _was_ the swim team. Broke records left and right." John shook his head. "I was only a fresher back then but, man, he was _good_."

"Well, I hope to be as good on the track, especially tomorrow." Alan smiled, trying to look confident, but there was a little nervous flutter that had taken up residence in his belly.

"Hey, if you're half as good at track as Gordon was in the water," John said, grinning. "We may be able to turn this season around."

Suddenly, the nervous flutter was joined by a heavy feeling. Alan smiled faintly, and huffed out a breath. "I'll do my best."

_

* * *

Will Wharton's quiz team remain undefeated? How will Alan do for his first track meet?What's going on with Sugi? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	67. Undefeated

_Author's note: _ Brains and Gordon arrive. Fermat has a meet. Alan and Gordon talk. Sorry this took so long, but it's a longer chapter. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and for being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record or by PM. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Wow!" Robbie, who had parted one of the stage curtains to peer out, looked back at his teammates, his eyes wide. "We got ourselves an actual audience this time!"

Mikal took up Robbie's position, and came back with a surprised look on his face. "I think half the school must be here."

"Then we will be motivated all the more," Devdan said, his tone calm. He put out a fist, and the other team members put theirs on his. "Whizzards win!" he called, joined by his teammates.

The group broke up, waiting for the signal to come out on stage. Fermat, who was standing apart from the rest, jumped when a large, warm hand fell on his shoulder. He turned... and his eyes opened wide with surprise and delight. "D-Dad!"

"Surprise!" Brains stood behind him, smiling warmly, his arms open wide.

"When did you g-g-g... arrive? Why didn't you t-t-t-tell me you were c-coming?" Fermat asked, his words tumbling out as he embraced his father.

"We wanted it to be a surprise." Gordon now stepped up, grinning. "Hey, Fermat! It's good to see you." He ruffled Fermat's hair.

"G-Good to s-s-see you, too, Gordon." Fermat stepped back from his father, looking up at Brains's thin face. "This is g-g-great!"

"It's going to be a surprise for the Sprout, too." Gordon rubbed his hands together. "I can hardly wait to see his face!"

"I thought I sh-should tell you I was h-here so I wouldn't d-d-distract you once the m-m-m... game started," Brains explained. He glanced at his watch. "T-Time to go. We'll be w-watching and ch-ch-ch... yelling loudly." He grinned and straightened his son's tie. "We'll s-see you again after you w-w-w... your v-victory."

"O-Okay, Dad." Fermat returned the grin. "I'll d-do my best... and even b-better now that y-you're here!"

"Psst! Fermat!" Mikal was gesturing; he had the curtain open and the rest of the underclassmen were in line. Fermat gave his father a quick salute, and joined his team. They filed out onto the stage to loud applause.

"C'mon, Brains," Gordon said, moving toward the stage door. "Let's find the Sprout."

xxxx

"Mathematics. Define the term: annulus."

Fermat leapt to his feet, and waited to be acknowledged. The opposing team's coach, a Mrs. Willis, turned to him and said, "Wharton three."

"A-Annulus is the area between the e-edges of two c-concentric circles."

She consulted the laptop, and nodded. "That is correct. A point for Wharton." The audience broke into loud applause and cheering as Fermat took his seat.

The meet had been a nail-biter. The underclassmen on the Wharton squad were behind by two points in the first round when the upperclassmen took their places. Fermat and Aaron had easily quizzed out, but their teammates, Robbie and Tom, had not. The upperclassmen also missed two questions, which increased their opponents' lead by another two points. Now it was the underclassmen's turn again for the second round. All of the Wharton players were buoyed by the applause from the audience when things went right, but the disappointed sounds when questions were answered incorrectly could be frustrating.

"I almost wish we didn't have an audience tonight," Tom had whispered when the younger group had exchanged seats with the older players after their first round ended.

"A l-least they're b-being polite to the other t-team," Fermat had responded. This was true; the spectators politely applauded each correct answer by the opposition.

"American literature." Fermat could feel Tom tense beside him.

"Name the author of _The Devil's Dictionary_."

Tom was on his feet in a flash, but the coach acknowledged the other team. "Northampton four."

Their opponent, a red-haired girl, said quickly, "Ambrose Pierce."

Mrs. Willis consulted the laptop, and Fermat could see her lips twitch. "That is incorrect. Wharton four."

"Ambrose Bierce," Tom stated, emphasizing the first sound of the author's last name.

"That is correct. A point for Wharton." She looked up at both teams. "Will the upperclassmen please take their places?"

As the teachers swapped places for the next half of the second round, Fermat glanced out over the audience. His father and Gordon were in the row just behind Alan, but a few seats over. It seemed to Fermat that Alan hadn't even noticed that the visitors were there. He was too busy talking with Jason. Kay had a camera in his hands, and was snapping pictures as the upperclassmen took the seats that the younger boys had just vacated.

"Let's hope they can pull us out of the hole," Aaron whispered.

He quieted and sat up straighter as Mr. Feng said, "Because Wharton is behind, they get the first question. European history..." And the round continued.

By the end of the second round, Wharton's deficit had been cut in half, and it was a far more confident group of younger boys who changed places with their older counterparts. They nailed all their questions, including the geometry problem that Fermat had been given. When they'd finished, their opponents were ahead by one point—a deficit quickly erased by the older team members in their final round. Mr. Feng conferred with his counterpart, talking quietly over the computer.

"Since the score is tied," Mr. Feng began, "we will have a tie-breaker round. I would like the captains of each team to choose a number from one to ten. Northampton."

The team captain, a short Asian said, "Ten."

"Wharton."

Devdan spoke up. "Three."

There was more discussion, then Northampton's coach pulled out a coin. She flipped it, and Mr. Feng called, "Heads." The coin spun, landed in its owner's hand, then was turned over to the opposite wrist. The boys couldn't hear who won, but Mr. Feng grinned widely. He pressed a couple of keys on the laptop, then looked up at both teams.

"The subjects are mathematics, geography and music. Captains, please select your players for the tie-breaker round."

Devdan quickly stood., and gathered the others around him, allowing Mr. Feng and Mrs. Willis to set the jump seats for the round. "Mikal, please represent us for geography."

Mikal nodded, his face serious. Devdan turned his gaze to Will.

"Will, would you please represent us for music?"

"Sure, Dev. I'll do it."

Everyone relaxed a little, thinking that Devdan himself would play for their side in the round. So Fermat could be forgiven for starting when his captain addressed him. "Fermat. Please be our champion in mathematics."

"M-M-Me?" Fermat stammered. "Wh-Why?"

"Because, my young friend, I must have at least one player from the underclassmen for the round." He put a hand on Fermat's shoulder. "I wish to choose my best players, and you are the best."

"B-B-B..." Fermat stuttered, trying to protest.

"He's right, y'know," Robbie said, looking Fermat in the eye. "Mikal and Will are our best for their subjects, and if we can't have Dev, you're the man, Fermat."

"Captains?" It was Mrs. Willis calling. "Are you ready to begin?"

"C'mon, guys. It's showtime," Will quipped, taking a step or two toward the three chairs that had been set up for their team, then looking back.

"Go, Fermat," Tom said. "You'll do great." He gave Fermat a little push, then joined the others as they trooped off the stage and into the front row.

"I h-hope s-s-so," Fermat muttered as he took the second chair.

The audience had become restless during the set-up, but now they quieted down. All but Alan and Jason, who shouted, "Go Brain!" much to the amusement of the crowd.

Mr. Feng, however, was not amused, and fixed a baleful eye on the two before turning back. "The round consists of three questions, and best two out of three wins. As always with the jump seats, the first player standing will be acknowledged, and allowed to answer. You will have ten seconds to answer the question once it is asked. If you do not answer correctly, the other team will be allowed to reply. If neither team is correct, no points are awarded and the turn is over. Should either team get the first two questions, they will be declared the winner." He glanced around. "Do you understand?"

The players all nodded their assent, and he cleared his throat. "Music."

Will shifted position, leaning forward a little. "What musical notation indicates that a piece is to be played very, very slowly?"

Both players were on their feet in a flash. "Wharton one."

"Adagissimo," Will said promptly.

Mr. Feng consulted the computer. "That is correct. A point for Wharton."

There was a good deal of cheering, and clapping at Mr. Feng's pronouncement, and Will grinned as he joined his team in the front row.

Mrs. Willis took over. "Geography."

Mikal sat straighter, and his feet shifted position. "Give the current name of the country once known as The Republic of Upper Volta."

Again, both players were up in a split-second, and she called, "Wharton three."

Mikal licked his lips and paused. A look of confusion set over his face, then he blurted out, "Cameroon."

She looked at the computer and shook her head. "That is incorrect." She gave a slight nod to her team. "Northampton two."

The team captain, for he was the player, stood there for a moment, then replied hesitantly, "Burkina Faso?"

A smile crossed the coach's face. "That is correct. Point to Northampton." The audience clapped loudly, and the Northampton team cheered as their captain stepped down to join them.

Fermat swallowed heavily as Mr. Feng stood before the computer. He shifted his weight forward, putting his sweaty hands on his knees, waiting for the question.

"Mathematics." Mr. Feng looked from one player to another, from Fermat, who pushed his glasses back up his nose, to the pert red-haired girl who waited eagerly for the question. "Who is considered the father of analytical geometry?"

Fermat surged to his feet and stood stock still, waiting to be called on. But Mr. Feng turned to the other team. "Northampton one."

The girl took a deep breath and said, confidently, "Pierre Fermat."

Fermat's jaw dropped open, and Mr. Feng's eyebrows rose. He made a show of checking the computer. "That is incorrect."

The girl looked stricken as she stood there, waiting for Fermat's response. The audience was quiet as Mr. Feng turned to Fermat. "Wharton two."

"R-R-R..." Fermat struggled with the name, aware that his ten seconds was ticking by. His face screwed up in concentration; his hands curled into fists and he lightly stamped his foot. Finally out popped, "R-René Descartes!"

Mr. Feng broke into a wide grin. "That is correct. Wharton wins."

The audience erupted into cheering and applause. Fermat slumped a bit, huffing out a relieved breath, then smiled at his coach. Brains jumped to his feet, put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Gordon looked up at him in amusement, before standing up to join the crowd. Alan and Jason started clapping and chanting, "Whizzards! Whizzards!", something that the rest of the audience picked up on.

The Whizzards rose to their feet and surged up to the stage, clapping Fermat on the back and ruffling his hair. The opposition also came back to the platform, and the two teams passed each other, shaking hands to show there were no hard feelings.

The red-haired girl was last to pass. "Good game," she said, a slight, wistful smile on her face.

"Y-You, too," Fermat replied, holding onto her hand. He leaned forward, not letting her go. "You t-took me by s-s-surprise, you know."

"I did?"

"Y-Yeah. You see, I'm n-named for P-Pierre Fermat." He pronounced the surname as the French would. "Only everyone calls me F-Fermat."

She laughed, the wistfulness gone. "That's funny! You have a cool name!"

"Th-Thanks." He paused and released her hand. "What's y-yours?"

She giggled a bit. "Renée."

Fermat's jaw dropped again, but any comment he would have made was forestalled by a hand on Renée's shoulder. Her coach stood behind her. "Time to pack up, Renée."

"Yes, Mrs. Willis." The girl turned to go, but looked over one shoulder at Fermat. "Nice to meet you, Fermat. Just wait until next time."

"R-Right. Nice to m-meet you, too." Fermat raised a hand in farewell.

Mrs. Willis watched Renée go, then offered her hand. "You did very well there, young man. I can see we're going to have some stiff competition for the rest of the season."

"Th-Thank you, ma'am," he responded, shaking her hand firmly. "Your team was r-really good. It was a cl-close game."

The coach smiled, and snorted a soft laugh. "We'll be ready for you at our next match." She glanced up as Mr. Feng approached. "See you again soon, Gary." She offered her hand.

"Right, Jess." Mr. Feng took her hand, and shook it firmly, then moved to stand beside Fermat as Mrs. Willis walked off. "Well, Fermat, your father's here. I don't know what his plans are..."

He was interrupted by the arrival of Brains, Alan, and Gordon. "Hey, Fermat!" Alan hollered. "That was awesome! You rock, man!" He out a hand; Fermat slapped it with his own, then Alan returned the favor. "And... look who I found out in the auditorium!"

"I kn-know, Alan," Fermat said, grinning. "D-Dad checked in with m-me before the meet started. Didn't want me f-freaking out on st-stage."

"This dork didn't even know we were there until your dad started whistling," Gordon said with a laugh. "You should have seen his face!" He gathered Alan into a headlock, and rubbed his knuckles across his brother's scalp. "Clueless, I tell ya!"

"Not the hair!" Alan pushed at his brother. "Let go, lummox!"

While this horseplay was going on, Brains and Mr. Feng were greeting each other and conversing quietly. Turning toward the boys, Brains said, "G-Gordon. Please."

"Okay, Brains. Since you asked so politely and all." Gordon released Alan, dusting his hands off.

Alan made a lunge for his brother, but was stopped by Mr. Feng's sharp, "Alan. Enough."

The boy huffed out a breath and said, somewhat resignedly, "Yes, sir."

Mr. Feng turned to his student. "Fermat, we're going to the snack shop to celebrate and I've invited your father to come along."

"It's m-m-my treat," Brains insisted. "G-Gotta celebrate the hard-earned v-v-v... win."

"Can't argue with that," Mr. Feng said. "So, let me collect up the equipment, and the rest of the team, and we'll head over." He walked off to where Devdan and Will were putting things away.

"And wh-what will you two be d-doing in the i-i-i... meantime?" Brains asked. "I'll need to know where to f-find Gordon."

The brothers looked at each other. "I'll take Gords here back to my room," Alan finally said. "Introduce him to the guys."

"Sounds g-good. I'll m-meet you in your d-dorm in..." Brains glanced at his watch. "Two hours?"

"Sure, Brains. Fermat knows where I am." Alan started tugging on his brother's arm. "C'mon, Gords. I've got snacks in my fridge."

"Snacks? Did you say snacks?" Gordon slung an arm across Alan's shoulders. "Lead the way, Sprout."

Alan shrugged off his brother's arm, saying, "Just follow me, 'Nemo'."

Gordon frowned, and smacked his brother lightly on the back of his head as they walked off. "Don't call me Nemo."

"Then don't call me Sprout!"

Brains and Fermat watched them go, with Fermat shaking his head. Brains looked down at his boy. "C'mon, s-son. Let's c-c-c... let's party!"

xxxx

"Man, you're in Birchwood?" Gordon took the steps to the dorm two at a time. "I didn't know you were in Birchwood! That's where I was my senior year!" He glanced over at Alan, grinning. "I have some goood memories of this place!"

"Yeah, this is where I moved to after..." Alan huffed a little breath. His brother paused, looking at him, his smile fading. With a little shrug, Alan smiled ruefully. "C'mon. I want to introduce you to Dom. Then we can grab some snacks and go looking for Zave and Kay. Jase is over in Oakwood, but I already introduced you to him."

Gordon began to laugh. "Yeah! He thought your face was pretty funny, too!"

"Yeah, well," Alan groused as they entered the lobby. "You'd look pretty weird, too, if one of us popped up out of nowhere without warning."

"I tell ya, Alan, we were sitting back there for the _whole meet_ and you didn't blink an eye!" Gordon shook his head. "Your friend looked over at least twice when Brains was yelling but you were o-bliv-ee-us!"

"It was a tight match, okay?" Alan paused outside his room. "Here we are." He put his hand up to the scanner.

"This is cool!" Gordon gazed down the hall. "I lived two... no, three doors down on the opposite side of the hall. Good times, man."

The door slid open and Alan slipped out of his jacket as he entered. Dom was there, looking through some pictures on his laptop. "Hey, Alan! I hear the quiz match was a nail-biter!"

"It was! Fermat was the man, though. He pulled out the win at the last second." Alan gestured toward Gordon. "Hey, this is my brother, Gordon. Gords, this is Dom Bertoli."

The two young men shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Gordon," Dom said. "I've been going through some of the old yearbooks lately; seems you were a big name in sports a few years back."

To his brother's surprise, Gordon blushed slightly, and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was doing what I loved, and that's what was important."

"Hey, are those pictures of the match?" Alan had caught a glimpse of what Dom was viewing and leaned in to get a better look.

"Yeah. Qaeshon just uploaded them. I'll be looking through and picking out the best for the yearbook," Dom explained. He clicked on a window. "How's that one of Fermat?"

Qaeshon had caught Fermat with his mouth agape, his jaw slack, looking both totally surprised and utterly goofy. Alan chuckled. "Yeah, that was in the tie-breaker, when the other team answered the question before he could."

Gordon nodded. "Yeah, I don't know which surprised him more: that she got it wrong, or the answer she gave."

Dom glanced from brother to brother. "What did she say?"

"She thought the answer was the guy who Fermat is named for, some old French mathematician," Alan replied.

"Philippe Fermat," Gordon supplied, helpfully. He shook his head. "I don't know that this picture really inspires faith in the quiz team's abilities." Turning his head slightly to one side, he pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "I think it perpetuates the stereotype of the average quiz team member."

"You mean brainy and geeky?" Dom asked.

Alan nodded. "Yeah. I mean, they _are_ brainy and geeky, but..."

Dom cut in. "I see what you mean." He looked over the picture again and nodded decisively. "I'll use it."

Gordon opened his mouth to object, but Alan grabbed his arm and steered him over to the room's refrigerator. "Now that it's settled, let's grab those snacks, Gords, and find someplace to eat. Leave Dom to his yearbook stuff."

"Hey, I appreciate it," Dom said, smiling.

While Gordon gathered drinks, Alan raided his box of snack foods. "We'll be back later!"

"Right! Nice to meet you, Gordon!" The words were cut off by the door sliding shut behind him.

"What the hell was that all about?" Gordon asked, standing in the hallway, his arms full of cans and bottles.

"Just... I wanted to get out of there, and not get into a big argument with him." Alan looked up and down the hall. "I'll talk with him later. Where do you think we should go? The TV room?"

"Nah, let's go to the quiet rooms." Gordon now set off purposefully toward the far stairwell.

"The quiet rooms?" Alan reached out to stop his brother, but his hand missed. He hurried to catch up. "Where are those?"

"You've lived here how long and you've never heard of the quiet rooms?" Gordon pressed the door's latch bar with one hip. Instead of heading up stairs, however, he headed down.

"No, I've never heard of the quiet rooms," Alan said, his tone snarky and sarcastic.

Gordon grinned. "Then come, little Grasshopper, and I will show you the way."

Alan rolled his eyes, but he followed his brother to a door set under the stairs on the ground floor. "They're in the basement?"

"Yeah." Gordon managed to open the door with a clumsy, three-fingered grip, and he preceded Alan down the well-lit steps. "Where else would you practice the trumpet?"

As they alighted from the last step, Gordon opened another door, and stepped into a hallway. It wasn't exactly quiet; there was a deep rumbling that Alan recognized as coming from the heating system. He noticed how dry it was, and how the usual damp smell that went with old basements was missing. Along each side of the hallway were wide doors that were nearly half window. Some of them had closed blinds, but light shone beyond the blinds, indicating that the rooms were occupied. In one of the rooms, the blinds were up, and someone Alan didn't recognize was playing a cello.

"Hey, Gords?" He felt the need to whisper. "How come I can't hear him?"

"These rooms are really well soundproofed," Gordon explained, using a normal tone and volume. "They're for the guys who play instruments, mostly. Or if you need a really quiet place to study." He stopped by a room where the window was dark. "Where's your ID?"

Alan pulled off his lanyard with one hand, holding it out to his brother, who shook his head. "My hands are a little full here."

"Well, then. What do I do?"

"Slide the ID into the slot, nitwit. Just like you'd do at a hotel."

"Oh." Alan pulled his ID card out with difficulty, trying to balance the snacks he had in one arm. He finally managed to slide it into the lock, which turned green. Gordon used his three free fingers to pull down the door latch, and they went inside. The lights went on the moment they walked in.

"Put the stuff on the table," the older Tracy directed. "I'll get the blinds."

Alan looked around. There was a small table, big enough to study at, and two chairs. An electronic keyboard sat against one wall. A music stand stood in a corner near the keyboard, folded down, but not taken apart. A trash can occupied another corner, sitting on top of the industrial gray carpet. He turned as Gordon opened a soda. "Man, the things a guy could do in here!"

"And they've all been tried, too." Gordon pulled up a chair, and sat down, leaning back and putting his feet up on the table. "Bringing in booze, girls..."

"Girls?" Alan looked around the room again. "What girl in her right mind would want to come here?"

"Who said they were in their right minds?" The older boy took a long gulp of his soda. "If some guy has a girlfriend and they want a little hanky-panky... well, the threat of getting caught just adds to the excitement." He nodded toward the corner over the door. "That's why there are cameras in the room."

The bubble Gordon indicated was the same color as the wall, and barely distinguishable from it. "They know that you're the student who is in here, too. Your ID told them that."

"And how do _you_ know all this? Especially about the girls?" Alan's tone was slyly accusatory. He took the other chair, turned it around, and sat, straddling the seat and leaning on the back. Pulling out a package of cheese puffs, he opened them and began to eat.

"Wellll," Gordon drawled. "Let's just say that a couple of guys I knew got kicked out for hanky-panky. The booze was actually harder because the stores around here are really strict about the legal drinking age, but one guy managed to lift some vodka from his dad's stash..."

"You are _kidding_ me!"

Gordon smiled, a smug sleepy-eyed expression. "I kid you not, Sprout. They had themselves a little party in one of these rooms. Half his floor were busted on that one. I think it was in Chetwood, though. Not here."

"Damn!" Alan reached for a bottle of root beer. "If I'd known about this, I'd have probably tried it last year so I could get kicked out!"

A thick, dark eyebrow rose. "And face Dad's wrath when you did? Not to mention blowing any possibility of joining the family business?"

Gordon's choice of words answered a question that Alan had meant to ask about possible microphones. "Yeah. I sure would have blown it." He shook his head. "Good thing then I _didn't_ know about these rooms." He took a long swig of root beer, then went, "Aaah," and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, does Maplewood have these?"

"I guess so." Gordon shrugged. "Why?"

"Fermat sometimes needs a quiet place to call home. This is probably better than where he's been going lately."

"Where's that?" Gordon began munching on some corn chips.

"The top of the stairwell. Where there's this little door..."

"Ah. Yeah. I know where you're talking about." Gordon finished his first soda, and picked up a bottle of root beer. "Did you know that you get to the roof that way?"

Alan shrugged, and crumpled up his cheese puff bag, aiming it at the trash can. It went in smoothly. "I figured you could, but it's locked."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Gordon said, taking a swig. "I used to go up there and sunbathe..."

The younger Tracy nodded sagely. "Yeah. Right. Sure. They would have booted you for that and you'd have been the one facing Dad's wrath." He leaned on his arms. "Besides, it's too cold to sunbathe around here. Even in the spring."

Gordon rolled his eyes dramatically and waved a dismissive hand. "Facts. Don't bother me with facts."

They both laughed. Gordon took a swig from his own bottle, then held it up in the direction of the camera, pointing at the raised glass letters. "Root beer. See. Not beer, root beer. My brother's obeying the rules."

"So." Alan said, grabbing a can. "What was this about Pierce? Dad told me some of it, but said I should ask you if I wanted more details."

Turning his gaze toward the ceiling and making a sour face, Gordon sighed. "I was stupid, okay. Stupid and smart at the same time." He picked up a bag of mini-pretzels. "Pierce was a popular dude. Best athlete on campus. Basketball captain, swim team captain, baseball... you name the sport, he probably competed at one point or another. Well, except maybe golf. Never heard he was into that." He opened the bag, and crunched down some of the contents, following them with a swig of his drink. "He saw that I was good. Started being pals with me. He had a cool posse, y'see. All the popular athletes knew him and hung around with him. Even the seniors." He shrugged. "I was flattered. Felt good to be included with the big dogs. He even wanted me to move in with him." Pausing, he ate some more pretzels, looking pensive. Draining the root beer, he continued. "Then he brought down the boom. He started pushing me. Trying to get me to do better, to step up my game. I was drowning in his criticism. Coach seemed pleased by my edge but not Pierce. He was the captain, and it was his approval I craved. So, after one heavy dressing-down, he took me aside and told me that I needed to increase my strength, and he knew an easy way to do it. 'Everyone's doing it,' he said."

"I was scared. I'd heard all the stories about steroids. I didn't want to take them, but I had to do something. So, I put him off and started pushing my strength training, working to get stronger. Working to get his approval without compromising my own conscience." He shook his head, looking beyond Alan at the wall, without really seeing it. "My grades started going down, and Coach was ready to cut me from the team. Dad put in his oar, too, and the pressure got to be too much." Gordon transferred his gaze to Alan, brown eyes meeting blue. His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Took me three years before I wised up and ratted Pierce out."

"You what?!"

Gordon snorted at his brother's wide-eyed expression. "Shh! Not so loud! We don't know just who is monitoring this room, now do we?"

Alan closed his mouth and sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. "What made you...?"

"I just finally realized that Dad was right and that Pierce was a bad influence. I don't think he ever knew exactly who did it, but everyone got tested and he was caught." Gordon kept his voice low, and punctuated his speech with the occasional pretzel. "It was hard; he had been my friend, and it was his senior year. But when he was kicked out, it was like a weight had lifted." He shook his head again, then crumpled up the empty pretzel bag, launching toward the trash can. It hit the rim and fell out. "Damn."

As Gordon got up to retrieve his trash, Alan used both hands to crumple the soda can he'd just drained. "The things you learn about your brothers."

"Hey! If I'd known Pierce was involved in all this, I'd have told you to run, not walk, away."

Alan waved Gordon away from the trash basket, and tossed his crumpled can. It hit the edge with a thunk, causing the basket to tip slightly before dropping in with a muted rustle. "I didn't know that Pierce was involved, not to the extent that he was. To me, he was just a dishwasher who happened to be a jerk."

Gordon took his seat again, picking up a candy bar and settling in to eat it. "And now he's a jailbird who's a jerk." He glanced over at Alan. "He _is_ a jailbird, right?"

"So, I'm told."

There was silence between them for a long moment. Gordon broke it by asking, hesitantly, "Have you heard anything about Sugimoto?"

Taking a deep breath, Alan let it out forcefully. "Not yet. I suppose I'll hear something soon, though. Have to give all the legal eagles time to figure things out." He absently rubbed the scars above his eyebrow, a motion that his brother noticed.

"Hey, you okay, Sprout?"

Alan sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I dunno. I guess so. I just wish it was all over. I wish it had never happened. Maybe if I hadn't been so stupid..."

Gordon pulled his feet off the table, and brought the chair legs back down to the floor with a thump. He leaned forward to look his brother in the eye. "Not true, Alan. Yeah, maybe you could look at it that way. Maybe you could say you were 'stupid'...," here he crooked the first and second fingers on both hands, "...that night, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that you did the _right thing_. You went to help somebody." He put a hand on Alan's shoulder and shook him gently. "I would have done the same thing, Sprout. The same damned thing."

Alan was silent for a moment, looking down. Then he raised his gaze to meet his brother's and said, "Don't call me Sprout."

Gordon collapsed back into his chair, rolling his eyes again. "Okay, okay. No more Sprout." He rocked the seat back again, thoughtfully fingering his chin as he said, "Hmm. What was it I heard your friends call you? Pinky?"

"Yes," Alan growled. "That's what my _friends_ call me."

A wide grin slowly grew. "Oh, c'mon, Al. I'm not just your brother! I'm your friend, too, aren't I?"

"You're a pain in the butt, Gordon. Always have been, always will be." Alan's glare held for another second, then he grudgingly said, "Okay. You can call me Pinky." At the widening of his brother's grin he added, "But only here!" He glanced at his watch. "And speaking of friends, we'd better go if I'm going to introduce you to Zave and Kay before Brains gets here."

"Right!" Gordon let the chair back down again, and stood. Gathering his and Alan's remaining trash, he dumped it into the can. Alan took a moment to straighten the chairs, and wipe any crumbs off the table with a swipe of his hand.

"That should do it," Gordon said, as he opened the blinds on the door. He motioned to Alan. "Lead on." As they left the room, Gordon glanced up at the bubble and gave it a sloppy salute.

They stopped long enough for Alan to swipe his card again. "There," his brother explained. "All logged out."

"C'mon." Alan hurried back toward the hallway entrance. "We'll want some time to hang out, and I _do_ need a good night's sleep."

Gordon shook his head and grinned as Alan slammed through the stairwell door. "Right behind ya... Pinky."

_

* * *

How will Alan do for his first track meet? What's going on with Sugi? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	68. Undeterred

_Author's note: _Alan's first track meet. An unexpected dilemma. Thanks to Lillehafrue and ArtisticRainey for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Julio shot an exasperated look at Alan, who sat next to him at the breakfast table. "Alan, man, I know you're nervous..."

Alan started. "Nervous? I'm not nervous."

"Then why are you jiggling your leg up and down? It's seriously annoying."

"Oh." Alan froze, let out a short huff of air, and gave his neighbor a weak smile. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that."

Julio grinned, and slapped Alan on the back. "No problem, Pinky. We're good."

"Finish up, guys," Xavion said. "We're running on the track today."

The track team members hastily finished their breakfasts. Alan wolfed down his remaining scrambled eggs and drained his milk, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He rose, taking his tray with him.

"Hey, Zave!" The older boy turned as Alan called his name, and he paused so the younger boy could catch up.

"What's up, Pinky?" he asked as the two matched strides.

"What's up with running on the track?"

"Because there was a lot of frost last night and Coach thinks the grass will be too slick. Last thing he wants today is someone to sprain something and not be able to compete." Zave's tone was sour. "He's hoping that things clear once the sun comes up so he doesn't have to change the cross-country route." He handed his tray to the older woman who stood by the massive dishwasher. Alan had noticed that Sable didn't usually work until the main breakfast shift on Saturdays. He gave the woman his tray, too, and she smiled at him.

"Good luck today, boys," she said.

"Uh, thanks," Alan replied, smiling back at her.

Zave was slower on the uptake. "Yeah, thanks."

The rest of the team was lined up behind them, waiting their turn, so Zave led the way to the dining hall lobby. Singly or in small groups, the track team members gathered around their captain, and when everyone was accounted for, Zave headed for the gym. Alan followed close behind him. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up close around his face, and dug his hands deep into the front pockets as the team went from warm cafeteria to cold, early morning air.

A navy blue and white bus bearing the name "Wharton Academy" in silver letters stood before the gym. A trailer, hitched to the rear, was loaded up with soccer equipment. As the track team approached, the final items were added, then the trailer was closed and locked. Mr. Beccara waited by the open bus door, checking off the soccer team members as they boarded. Last to board was Vítor Orta, the new soccer team captain. Zave paused to give Vítor a high-five.

"Good luck today, man."

Vítor grinned. "Good luck to you, too, Zave. Maybe we'll both win today."

"I hope so!"

Vítor climbed into the bus, followed by Mr. Beccara, who paused to give the track team a quick salute. The door swung shut; the driver put the bus in gear, and the soccer team drove off. The track team waved and shouted, wishing their fellow athletes good luck. As the bus disappeared from sight, Zave turned to his team.

"We'll warm up in the gym and start our run from there."

Alan took a deep breath and opened the gymnasium door. _Maybe the morning run will get rid of my butterflies._

xxxx

"Man, it's freezing." Gordon hunched deeper into his jacket. "I'd forgotten how early the cold weather sets in here."

"Think how much c-c-colder it was when Alan went for his morning r-run." Fermat glanced at the sky. "At least the sun is o-out."

"Now, remind me wh-who is competing first." Brains had his hands cupped around a silvery travel mug. Steam rose, curling about his mouth and adding its subtle presence to the mist his breath was creating. A large, shiny thermos sat upright on the bench beside him.

"Cross-country goes first," Gordon replied, making a quick gesture toward the field below them, and tucking his hand back into his jacket. They were sitting halfway up the bleachers, where the sun had been shining for a while, warming the metal enough to make sitting bearable. They weren't the only spectators, but there were few others. "The competing team had to come from Southborough, which is a couple of hours away. Cross-country will do their thing, then they'll have some rest and lunch, and the field events will be held this afternoon." He craned his neck. "Hey, there's Coach!"

"And there's A-Alan." Fermat stood to his feet and waved with both gloved hands. Gordon pulled a vidcam from his pocket, held it where he could focus on the field, then put two fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly. Not only did he gain the attention of their target, but also the attention of all the gathered competitors. Alan, wearing his school's colors in warm up jacket and trousers, grinned, and waved back, then turned his attention to his warm up exercises.

"I w-wish we could f-follow them on this race," Fermat said as he sat down. "Just like they do on TV."

"Me, too, Fermat," Gordon kept his camera up for a little bit longer, then lowered it. "All I'll be able to send up to John is the beginning and the end."

"Television broadcasts set up c-cameras at specific spots. Even they don't c-cover the whole r-r-r... track," Brains reminded them.

"I bet they'll use that new Action Cam thing during the next Olympics," Gordon said, hunkering down again. "If they had something like that here, they wouldn't have to have spotters out making sure no one is cheating."

Fermat dropped his voice to a low murmur. "I w-wonder if something l-like that would be h-h-h... an aid in, uh, you-know-w-what."

"Hm. I suppose it would. Never thought about that." Gordon said, his tone off-handed. His attention was fixed on his brother, who stretched and lunged and jogged in place. Brains, on the other hand, gave his son a thoughtful look, and pulled his PDA from an inner coat pocket.

The athletes now positioned themselves at the starting line, which was set on Wharton's six-lane, red urethane track. Three of the six team members had taken up positions in the lanes, while the other three runners - Alan was one of these - ranged behind. Dressed in shorts and singlets over thin thermal leggings and wearing running shoes suitable for pavement and more natural surfaces, Alan in particular looked focused and ready.

The gun sounded, and the runners took off, clearing the track at the first bend and heading off field in a small group. Fermat jumped to his feet, shouting, "Go, Alan, go!" Gordon, camera in hand, bounded down the bleacher steps to film the racers as long as he could, but they quickly disappeared from sight. Brains looked up from his PDA and frowned.

"Has the r-race st-started already?" he asked, sounding slightly befuddled.

"Yeah, D-Dad." Fermat sat back down beside his father. He hefted the thermos. "More c-coffee?"

"I'll g-get it myself, s-s-s... Fermat," Brains said, going back to his PDA. "Just l-let me know wh-when they're near the f-f-finish line."

"S-Sure, Dad." Fermat settled down and pulled up his jacket collar. Below, he could see Gordon exchanging a hand shake, then a back-thump with Coach Evans. Fermat watched as Evans introduced Gordon to the other team's coach, a tall, muscular man with short cropped black hair. He peered over at his father's PDA. The small screen showed a small portion of schematics; Fermat could make neither heads nor tails of the tiny bit of data. His father was intent on what he was doing, so much so that he was oblivious to Fermat's interest. With a sigh, the boy hunched down in his heavy jacket, tugging his knit cap down a little more, and sliding each of his cold hands into the opposite sleeve.

_I guess this is the boring part._

xxxx

The race's layout took them parallel to the access road for a little bit before a left turn plunged them into the woods. Alan found the cold air bracing, though his knit team cap felt odd on his head. Forgetting his hat for the morning run had made him all the more determined to wear it during the meet. His sweatshirt hood, no matter how closely tied, just didn't fit snugly enough, and would provide more wind resistance than the close-fitting hat.

The route followed the line of Wharton's back fence. Spotters, members from both track teams, as well as a few Wharton teachers, kept watch at regular intervals, looking not only for possible cheaters but also for injuries. A good thing, too, as one of the competing team's runners slipped a few paces ahead of him. Alan had to strongly squelch the urge to stop and help, moving past the injured runner with an internal wince. _I guess the urge to rescue has really been pounded into me._

He worked to regain his focus, pacing himself, trying to stay a consistent distance behind the lead runner – a member of the opposing team. He felt he was perfectly positioned to make a move in the final stretch. Though he was intent on what he was doing, little sensory details still made themselves known. The scent of pine and spruce, their rough, scaly bark, gooey -looking bits of pine pitch congealed on bark and branch registered with only a slight glance. The quiet crunch of dry pine needles underfoot that segued into the gritty shifting noise and feel of dead, damp leaves as they went from the tall pines to a clump of now-barren oaks subtly filled his senses The occasional flash of white birch, a distant bird call... all these and more called for his attention. In some corner of his mind, they were recognized, and he unconsciously filed them away as a blurred part of the whole.

As they paced alongside Wharton's outer barrier, Alan noticed an abrupt change in the fence itself. Some of it was a familiar dark gray, the links weathered by wet and wind and cold. But at one point, that gray became a shiny silver, the color of new metal. A brief glance showed him that the old fence veered off in a different direction entirely and was soon lost to view, while the route they were running took them along this new section. He couldn't quite figure out why the school had raised a new barrier out there on the fringes of its property, nor why the highly visible "No Trespassing" signs were studded along its length - until he came to a familiar spot, and his pace slowed to a crawl, then to a stop. He felt the blood drain from his face. Bile rose in his throat; he swallowed it with difficulty.

Though he couldn't quite make out the actual Hollow itself – it was just out of sight, behind a wide clump of tangled bushes and the honeycomb of new fence- he was familiar enough with the terrain and pathways that accessed it. The ways he had taken on that bogus rescue, when he had fallen into Lee Sugimoto's ambush. The paths Fermat and his friends had used in their surprise rescue. The trails Sugi had fled along when he attempted his escape. The still sharp visions of that night threatened to overwhelm him and his knees nearly gave way.

"Alan!" Jameson, who had been several paces behind, came up beside him, jogging lightly in place. "You okay?" Glancing at what Alan's eyes were fixed on, he took a sharp breath, and stopped entirely. "C'mon, Alan. We'll let the next spotter know you need to go back."

His words were like cold water dashed in Alan's face. He shook his head violently, and a shiver passed down him from scalp to toes.

"No."

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head again, with less force. "No," he repeated. He transferred his gaze to Jameson and gave him a curt nod. "I'm not going back." With that, he shook his head one last time, and took off, breaking into a sprint.

His teammate followed, catching up long enough to ask, "Are you sure?"

Alan swallowed, then gave him a small, grim smile. "Watch my dust."

xxxx

"H-Here they come!" Fermat was standing at the top of the bleachers, in a corner where he could get the clearest view of the incoming runners. He held the vidcam up, and focused it on the racers. Gordon was down on the field, having talked his way into helping at the finish line, and had handed the recording duties to the younger boy. A small crowd had gathered, mostly made up of those who had been spotters, returned from their duties, but also a number of Wharton students and teachers, and a few parents from each team. Fermat stared out through the viewscreen, looking for his friend.

"D-Dad!" He pointed toward the runners as his father joined him. "Look! A-A-Alan's in second!"

It had taken nearly all he had just to catch up. His heart pounded and his lungs burned as Alan pushed himself forward, trying to overtake the competing runner in front of him. Gone were the measured pace, the programmed breathing, the team spirit. All that was left was the pure drive to win, to be the first to cross that finish line. To prove to himself that he was putting those awful events behind him for good.

The last length brought them down a grassy hill, now dry from the sun's rays. The flags directed the runners down the slope at an angle, first from right to left, with a sharp dogleg halfway down the hill, then left to right with another sharp turn at the base. After that, it was a straightaway to the finish.

Alan pelted down the hill, his speed so reckless he looked as if he might take a tumble. The front runner was only a few meters ahead, and there was no way that he couldn't know someone was that close on his tail. Indeed, he did know, for when he cleared that final set of turn flags, he put on a burst of speed that seemed to leave everyone else in the dust.

Everyone but Alan Tracy. He made the final turn. The ropes that funneled the runners to the finish were visible, as was the back of his nearest competitor. Both sights urged him on, gave him a second wind, and with that he surged ahead, his only thought to pass the runner in front of him.

But his second wind was brief; he felt himself slowing. His feet felt leaden; each step like he was running in thick molasses. Yet, he didn't stop. The runner before him entered the funnel. The runner behind him attempted to pass, and Alan put every last remaining ounce of energy into staying ahead. He caught a quick glimpse of his brother's grin just before crossing the finish line. His momentum took him a few yards more; he slowed to a stop, bent over, hands on his thighs, red-faced and gasping for air.

"Keep walking," Zave said as he came up, pressing lightly on Alan's back with one hand while offering a paper cup of sports drink with the other. "Don't let those muscles cramp."

Breathless, Alan could only nod. He straightened slowly, and drank what he'd been given, walking and stretching as he did so. Zave went off to greet the next Wharton runner, Jameson. Alan made his way over to the tall plastic jug to refill his cup.

"Hey." The winning runner came up to the dispenser just as Alan finished filling his cup. When Alan looked up, he said, "Good race."

Alan smiled a little and took his opponent's proffered hand. "Yeah, it was. Congrats on coming in first."

"Thanks." The other runner refilled his own cup while Alan drained his. "I haven't seen you at our other meets. Just joined the team?"

"Nah." Alan shook his head. His breathing was evening out, and he refilled the cup once more. "I was red-shirted for a bit. Had some injuries. Just got the okay to come back and compete."

"Ah, okay." His competitor drank, then crushed the paper cup and tossed it in the nearby trash can. Other runners began to arrive, looking to quench their own thirst. "See you later, Tracy."

"Yeah, later." Alan frowned as he finished his drink. "How'd he know my name?" he muttered under his breath, crushing then disposing of his cup.

"It's only on the back of your uniform, idiot." Alan turned at his brother's voice. "Don't tell me you didn't notice his." Alan blinked, and his face blushed crimson. Gordon laughed, and threw an arm across the younger man's shoulders. "You didn't, did you?"

"Uh, no. Do you know...?"

"His name is McGillicudy. How you couldn't see that, especially since you were following so closely, I'll never understand."

"I was kinda focused on my running."

"Well, you did good. Time looked fine, and though the guy that came after you was from the opposing team, the next three were Wharton."

"So, what's the score?"

Gordon glanced over his shoulder, to where the coaches were talking. "Not sure yet. I've never officiated at cross-country before. All I did was take the numbers of the runners as they came in." He shrugged. "It got a little hairy at the end, but I think we got everyone."

"What order did everyone come in?" Alan glanced to where Coach Evans was listening to Zave and Jameson while the other coach waited.

Gordon looked thoughtful. "Well, McGillicudy was first; you were second. Then a guy from the other team, then three from Wharton, one from the other team, and two from Wharton came in last."

Alan began to add things up in his head. "We took second, fourth, fifth, sixth, tenth and... eleventh?" He frowned. "Oh, that's right. One of their players was injured. So they'd count the first five on each team." He began to add things up. "That's a score of 27 for us, then. They took first, third, seventh, eighth and ninth..." He began to smile. "That's right! As long as no one else was disqualified, we won!"

"Lowest score wins, I take it?" Gordon asked, a grin spreading over his face.

"Yup!" Alan shook his head. "But man! What a close meet!" He started putting his uniform pants and jacket on over his thermals, and took off his sweat-laden hat. The cold air had begun to work its way into his damp clothes, and he wanted a hot shower and change before the afternoon meets. The coaches were still discussing something, though Zave and Jameson were no longer part of the conversation. Fermat and Brains had come down from the heights and were sitting on the second row. It seemed to be the thing to do; the other spectators were also waiting. The rest of the team was waiting, too, putting on their warm-ups and discussing the race.

"It wouldn't affect the score that much," Alan heard Zave saying to Jameson, as the team captain brought some equipment to the sidelines. "As long as he's not disqualified, we're still the winners."

"We might have gotten a better score if he hadn't stopped." Jameson sounded insistent. "And his time - not to mention mine - that definitely was affected."

"You didn't have to stop, y'know," Zave said, shaking his head.

Jameson responded, but Alan was no longer listening. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing he'd never come back to the team, that he had dropped out entirely.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes to see Gordon's concerned face. "You okay, bro?"

Alan shrugged. "Yeah," he lied. "I'm okay."

"Good," Gordon said, making a motion with his head toward the two coaches, who seemed to have finally come to an agreement. "I think they're ready to declare the winner."

Alan's stomach began to knot, and his frame stiffened as Coach Evans picked up the bullhorn. He cleared his throat, which sounded terribly loud coming from the amplifier. "Thank you all for your patience. The score from today's meet is 27 points for Wharton, and 28 points for St. Mark's. Wharton is the winner."

There was clapping, cheering, and whistling from the stands for a few moments, then people began to gather up their things. The two teams lined up and walked past each other, shaking or tapping hands in a gesture of sportsmanship. When Alan had come through the line, Coach Evans approached him.

"Alan, I need to talk to you."

Smothering a sigh, Alan replied, "Yes, sir."

Coach drew them away from most of the activity, and kept walking as he spoke. "Jameson tells me that you stopped out there during the race. Just stopped." His tone was matter-of-fact, not accusatory. "Mind telling me what that was all about?"

This time Alan didn't stifle his sigh. "We were following along the fence at the back of the school's property. Some of the fence back there is new." He glanced at his coach, who nodded encouragement. "The Hollow is back there, beyond the new fence. I couldn't see it, but... I've been out there plenty and I know all the little trails..." He let his voice trail off and shrugged. "It caught me by surprise, and I guess I had a flashback."

Evans put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "I'm sorry that happened, Alan. That has been one of our standard routes, though we had to alter it on account of the new fence. When we were making those alterations, I thought something like this might happen, but I also felt it was a calculated risk. I didn't know how often you'd visited there, and whether or not you'd recognize the place in daylight. Zave wasn't sure either. He didn't have time to consult his brother, or anyone else who might know." He stopped walking and turned to face Alan. "We'll make some more alterations to that route before we use it again. Do you think that will help?"

Hands jammed deep into his warm-up jacket's pockets, Alan nodded. "Yeah. I guess so." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Actually, Coach, I think it was just the unexpectedness of it all." He looked down for a moment. "I think..."

Coach waited for a couple of seconds, then prompted, "Alan? You think?"

Alan took a deep breath and raised his gaze to the coach's face. "I think I can handle it after today. It just took me by surprise, that's all."

Coach Evans's dropped his hand, and his forehead wrinkled with a frown. "Are you sure? We don't have to go that way if it's going to make you have flashbacks."

"I know." Alan moistened his lips with his tongue and took another deep breath. "I'm sure. Don't change the route. I can handle it."

The older man's frown eased, but did not disappear entirely. "Okay. I'll take your word for it." He put his hand on Alan's shoulder again and gave the boy a little shake. "We don't run that route but a few times a year – a course that's repeated too often gives the home team an unfair advantage. However, when we next use it, if you're still having trouble, you are to drop out of the race and tell me immediately. Do you understand?"

Alan nodded. "Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good." Coach nodded decisively. "Last thing you need is to continue having flashbacks just because of this sport." He steered them back to the quickly-dwindling crowd. "Now, tell me: what made you start up again? Jameson told me you took off like a rabbit."

At this, Alan snorted. "I guess... I think I wanted to prove that it was behind me. That what happened, and the guys who did it, couldn't take this from me."

"Good." Evans smiled now, the lines in his weathered face deepening. "That's a good attitude to have. And you're right; they can't take this from you. The only one who can do that is you yourself." He paused and looked toward the bleachers. "Now, your brother and Fermat are waiting. Grab your gear, get some lunch, and I'll see you back here at one for the field events."

"Okay, Coach." Alan took a few steps forward, then turned to look back. "Coach?"

"Yes, Alan?"

Alan smiled. "Thanks."

Coach returned the smile. "You're welcome, Alan. See you at one."

Alan nodded, and broke into a short sprint, joining Gordon, Brains and Fermat, and giving the latter a high-five. The coach watched him go, sighing slightly.

xxxx

The earlier win from the cross-country squad had the effect of galvanizing the rest of the team. Nearly everyone did well. By comparison, Alan's afternoon events were anti-climactic. His three long jumps would have been impressive, had he not marked the plasticine every time. He fared better in the high jump; not one of his attempts failed, though on the last jump, he changed from his usual method to the Fosbury Flop. The result both pleased and irked him.

"Why the sour face, Pinky?" Zave asked after the meet.

"Looks like I might have to change my strategy," Alan grumbled. "What I'm doing... seems it has limits."

Zave just grinned, the "I told you so" as evident in his eyes and smile as if he'd actually said it.

"It's been good to see you again, Gordon," Coach Evans said as Alan approached his brother. "You sure you don't want to come back and take classes again? The swim team could use you."

"No way, Coach, no way!" Gordon grinned and shook his head. "Though maybe once I'm done with college... maybe I can come back and take your job."

The coach laughed. "Believe me, Gordon, there are days I'd gladly give it to you. Then there are days... like today," Evans glanced over at Alan, "where I wouldn't give it up for the world."

Gordon gave his brother a keen look and nodded. "Yeah. I can see that."

There was an awkward moment, then Coach held out his hand. "Again, good to see you, Gordon. You know you're welcome any time."

"I'll try to get back again before the season ends." Gordon shook the coach's hand, and the older man walked off. Zave trailed behind him, carrying the last of the equipment to a waiting van.

"It's good to see him again," Gordon remarked. He turned to his brother. "Hey, get changed and gather up your friends. I want to take as many of you as possible out to dinner. My treat."

Fermat glanced up at his father. "How m-many is 'many'?"

Brains frowned, a thoughtful look. "We d-d-did rent a s-s-s... large vehicle this time with something like this in m-mind. We can p-probably take... f-four or f-five with us."

Alan and Fermat put their heads together, then Alan glanced up at his brother. "Might take a bit to track everyone down, though there's one guy I can ask right now." He waved his arm and shouted, "Hey, Zave!"

Zave stopped climbing into the passenger seat of the van and shouted back, "Yeah, Pinky?"

"Wanna go to dinner with us? My brother's buying!"

Zave thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, sure! Just let me get cleaned up! When and where should we meet?"

Fermat and Alan looked at each other, then at Gordon. Fermat shrugged; Gordon said, "Six-thirty."

"In front of Birchwood at six-thirty!" Alan hollered.

"Okay. See you then." With that, Zave climbed into the passenger seat and the van pulled away.

"So, wh-who else?" Brains asked.

"Kay, Jase, and Dom?" Alan asked, giving Fermat a questioning glance.

"S-Sure," was Fermat's reply. "Too b-bad A.J. isn't h-here this weekend. He went h-home with his d-d-d... father again." He thought a moment, then asked, "Can I invite R-Robbie B-Bennett? He's a t-teammate of m-mine."

"That would make five," Gordon said, counting on his fingers. "I think we can manage it."

"G-Great!" Fermat grinned. "I'll g-go ask him n-now!"

"You d-do that, son," Brains said. "I n-need to c-contact the island."

"Me, too," Gordon said. "Gotta upload this video to Dad and John." He made a motion of his head toward the dorms. "Go get cleaned up, Al, and get your posse together. We'll be there soon."

"Right. C'mon, Fermat!" Alan shouldered his gym bag and started off toward the access road behind the dorms. Fermat hesitated, looking back at his father.

Brains flapped a hand, shooing his son on his way. "I'll be a-along soon, son. Go invite your f-friend."

"O-Okay, Dad!" Fermat grinned, then turned and ran to catch up with Alan.

Gordon sidled back over to the bleachers, linking the camera to his phone. "This might take a bit," he said, grimacing. "There's more vid here than I thought." He glanced at Brains. "When you're finished calling the island, can you please look for a decent place to take seven hungry kids?"

"D-Don't you mean eight?" Brains replied with a smug smile. "A-As I r-r-recall, you're still a t-t-t-teenager yourself."

Shaking his head, Gordon rolled his eyes. "Age-wise, maybe. But I'm not a kid anymore."

Brains's smile turned into a wicked grin. "I know some f-folks who would d-d-d... argue with you about th-that."

_

* * *

Has Alan really put this behind him? What is Brains's idea? How will Jeff react? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	69. Unpromising News

Author's note: Brains calls Jeff with an idea. Penny gives Jeff some interesting information. Gordon and Brains say goodbye. Alan learns the fate of his attackers. Thanks to the folks at fanfic_law for clarification on drug charges and sentencing. Thanks to Lillehafrue for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"So, when are you going to be wheels up?" Jeff sat back in his favorite chair, talking to Brains, whose face took up a corner of the computer screen. The engineer blinked at him myopically.

"Wheels up at t-ten a-a-a... in the morning," Brains told him. "We p-plan on taking the b-boys for b-breakfast before that." He glanced over his shoulder. "Y-Yes, Gordon. I'll a-ask."

"Gordon being a pest?" Jeff asked, smiling.

"Somewhat." Brains shook his head slightly. "He w-wants to know if you g-got his u-upload."

"Tell him I did, but I'm waiting until I can get the boys together before watching it." Jeff tapped his chin with a pen. "I also have yours. I like the idea, but do you think Dr. Sugimoto would suspect anything?"

Brains frowned. "I d-don't know. He's n-not the only one with those pl-plans, and the rumors are that we h-have... c-connections." He shrugged, one thin shoulder rising higher than the other. "I'm m-more worried about our c-contract with him if he did find out."

"Hm, yes." Jeff shifted a bit. "His contract is with our public entity, but as we know the two are linked, it does feel more than a bit deceptive. The trick is keeping him from making that connection himself."

"I f-feel that way, too." Brains moistened his lips with his tongue. "Still, we could u-use the device. It's a c-calculated risk, but it's also y-your call."

"I'll think about it some more. I admit it would be an effective tool. If you made improvements on the design that would make our version different enough from his, I'd feel better about it." Jeff took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and changed the subject. "So, you're taking the posse out to dinner?"

"I'm only the d-d-driver. Gordon is p-paying for the m-meal."

"That's generous of him." Jeff grinned. "I hope he knows what he's getting into. We're talking about bottomless pits _and_ hollow legs here."

"Of which h-he is one." Brains's face echoed Jeff's wide smile. "H-However, he might get some st-sticker shock when he gets the b-bill."

A soft beeping noise filled the office, and Jeff glanced over at the other half of his screen. "Gotta go, Brains. Penny's calling."

"O-Okay, Jeff." Brains didn't hesitate to use his employer's name, and Jeff noticed. "I'll call you before we l-leave."

"We'll see you sometime tomorrow," Jeff replied, his hand hovering over a key on his computer. "Goodbye."

"Goo-"

Jeff winced when he realized he had prematurely cut off his conversation with Brains. _I'll apologize later_, he thought as he hit another key. "Hello there, Penny. Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you?"

"I am well, though I will admit to some concern when you didn't answer the phone directly." One of Penelope's shapely eyebrows was raised, and there was a slight quirk on one edge of her pink lips, indicating that she was teasing.

"I was getting travel details from Brains. He and Gordon are at Wharton." Jeff shifted in his chair. "I finished up that call because I wanted to have my attention focused on you and you alone."

"Ah, I see." The quirk deepened into a cheek-dimpling smile. "If that is the case, you are forgiven." She cocked her head slightly to one side. "Are things well with Alan and Fermat?"

"Yes, they're doing great. Fermat's quiz team won their match Friday night, and I have footage of Alan's cross-country and field events from... well, from yesterday my time and earlier today in your time zone. I just got them."

"Would you send them to me, please? I should like to see the competition."

"Sure. I think I should send it to my mother as well; she'd be interested to see it, too." Jeff took a few moments to attach the video files to emails and sent them off. "There. Incoming mail."

"Thank you, Jeff. I will enjoy watching the meet." She paused, and her face took on a more serious expression. "I must tell you that this is not a purely social call. I have some information for you, gleaned from some of Parker's underworld contacts. It concerns the SBX."

Jeff sat up straight. "What is it?"

Penny brought up her data pad, glancing at it as if to refresh her memory. "Parker's sources say that what happened was an attempt to spirit away a certain military sub-contractor. This particular personage was rumored to be on the SBX to observe the testing of an anti-radar system that they had designed."

"Did his sources know who this designer was?"

Penelope shook her head. "The military is being particularly secretive on that front, which is why so little is known. Whoever he or she is, they have been well-hidden. However, those sources believe - as I think you do - that the damage came from within, meaning that our saboteur was on the SBX at the time." She paused. "The people behind this must not have expected IR's intervention."

"No clue as to who that might be?"

"None that Parker's sources would admit to."

Jeff sat lost in thought for a time, so long a time that Penelope felt it was prudent to remind him she was there. She cleared her throat, a delicate "ahem" sound. It had the desired effect; Jeff started, and gave her a sheepish smile.

"Sorry about that, Penny. The more we learn about this incident, the less we know for sure, it seems."

"I would disagree, Jeff. Parker has vehemently vouched for his sources, and he has let them know there will be incentives for any other information they can unearth. He hopes to hear more in the days to come."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "The people behind this aren't above playing hardball, Penny. I hope Parker's informants don't lead them back to him... or you."

Penny smiled slightly. "I appreciate your concern, Jeff. I assure you that Parker is the soul of discretion, and in the unlikely event that our saboteurs are able to trace the information back to us, Parker and I are quite capable of dealing with them."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Jeff said, a wry look on his face. His expression softened. "When can you come out to the island again?"

"Soon, dear Jeff. It has been particularly cold and damp here this past fortnight and there is nothing I would like more than to visit paradise and bask in the sun." She gave him a speculative look. "Have you replaced that hideous hammock yet?"

He laughed. "No, but I'll be sure to by the time you visit... or at least move it to someplace out of sight. It may be ugly, but it's really rather comfortable."

"I will take your word for it."

There was an awkward pause, then Jeff said, "Let me know when you want to come out. Maybe we can make arrangements to meet somewhere and travel back here together. I expect Virgil and John will want to be the next ones going to Wharton, when John's has his week off."

"We shall see each other soon, Jeff. I promise." Penelope turned at the chiming of a clock in the background. "It is getting late here. As reluctant as I am to break off our conversation, I must go. I have some social engagements in the morning, and I must look fresh and well-rested."

"You'd look fresh no matter the occasion or the setting," he said, smiling.

"I notice you said nothing about looking well-rested," she reposted, the quirk and dimple returning with her mischievous half-smile. The impish look faded, and she sighed. "Really, I must go. Au revoir, Jeff."

"Goodnight, Penny," he replied softly. "Sweet dreams."

She made no comment to this other than smiling once again. Then she reached forward and ended the call.

Jeff sat back in his chair for a long while, thinking over what Penelope had said, savoring the smiles and gentle words he knew were meant for him. His gaze traveled to the pictures on his desk. Lucille smiled out at him, too, surrounded by the miniature versions of his sons, dressed in the ski gear she'd worn on that last, horrible day. He closed his eyes tightly, keeping himself from falling into the jagged kaleidoscope that were his memories of the time. When he opened them again, they were moist. Then he sighed heavily, and straightened. The email from Gordon caught his eye, and he smiled. Grabbing his phone, he texted his sons. "Come 2 office. Gordon sent vid of Alan's trak meet."

xxxx

"I don't think I'll ever make an offer like that again," Gordon said as he watched Brains walk Fermat into Maplewood. "I had no idea why Dad worked so hard, until now."

"What is that supposed to mean?" From the SUV's rear seat, Alan leaned forward, his tone one of aggrieved sarcasm.

"Are you kidding? He had to become a billionaire just to keep us in food!" Gordon huffed out a breath. "Where did you guys put it all?"

"You ate as much as we did. Where did _you_ put it?" Alan raised his eyes toward the roof and shook his head. "We're growing. We need fuel."

"Yeah, well, keep eating like that, and you won't be growing up, you'll be growing out." Gordon puffed out his cheeks, and motioned with a hand at his belly, indicating a fat stomach. "You put away quite a bit this morning, too."

"Hey, you made the offer. Don't blame us for taking full advantage of it."

The driver's door opened, and Brains slid behind the steering wheel. "We'll d-drop you off at B-Birchwood, Alan."

"Thanks, Brains." Alan sat back as Brains started the motor again. "And thanks for taking us out for breakfast. That place has some great muffins."

Brains eased the van around the quadrangle, ending up at Birchwood again. It was almost time for them to head back to the island. While the Hackenbackers said their goodbyes, Alan had stayed with Gordon, giving father and son some time alone. Now Alan hopped out, and so did his brother.

"You did great yesterday, Sprout... oh, I'm sorry. I meant Pinky." Gordon leaned up against the closed passenger door, grinning. He reached out to snag Alan's knit cap, but had his hands batted away.

"Gordon! Quit it!" When the filial tussle was over, and Alan had removed his hat to keep it from his brother, Gordon huffed a little laugh, and sobered a bit.

"Seriously, Al, I'm proud of you. You put your all into the meet." He shifted his stance a little. "You've got cool friends, and you're making a name for yourself here... and it ain't Mudd, either."

The irritated look on Alan's face eased a bit and he snorted a laugh. "Yeah, well, Coach might not agree with you after my long jumps yesterday."

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. "Pfft. You'll get it. Every time you compete, you learn something new. Just take hold of that, and run... I mean, jump with it."

Alan nodded. "I'll remember that... Nemo."

The older brother shook his head and let out an aggrieved sigh. "Children..."

"Should I start calling you 'old man'?" Alan said with a grin.

"Nah. The only old man is Dad... though Scott's a close second." There was a pause, then Gordon reached out and said, "C'mere."

The brothers embraced, thumping each other on the back. Then they separated. Alan scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the roadway. "Well, I'll see you later."

"Yeah, Al. I'll call when we get home." Gordon opened the door. Alan drew close.

"See you later, Brains! Thanks again for breakfast, and for bringing this nut out to see me."

"Y-You're welcome, A-Alan." Brains beamed. "T-Take care!"

"You, too! Fly safe!"

While the others exchanged farewells, Gordon climbed in, and closed the door. He lowered the window, and Brains started the engine.

"Hey!" Alan frowned as the import of Gordon's promise finally hit him. "You'll probably get home when it's the middle of the night here."

A fresh, impish grin spread across Gordon's face. "All the more reason to call." He turned to Brains. "Let's go."

"Gordon!" The SUV pulled away, and Alan ran after it. Gordon laughed, waved. and blew kisses until Alan stopped trying to catch up. "Don't you dare!" were his last words as the SUV drove past the other dorms, around the far end of the quadrangle, and back down the other side to the exit. Alan didn't move until it was out of sight. "He'd better damn well wait until it's daylight here," he muttered. Exasperated, he huffed out a breath, creating a large puff of white vapor, then shoved his hands in his pockets and tramped back to his room.

xxxx

Monday started off as blissfully normal. Alan ate breakfast with his team, enjoying the camaraderie and discussing the previous meet. They ran together, even though the morning was cold and frosty. Fermat ate his breakfast with their friends.

"Hey, K-Kay? Was there anyone f-from the yearbook at the m-m-m... track on S-Saturday?"

Qaeshon shook his head. "No, I don't think so, but there was supposed to be someone from the school paper there to take pictures. We share back and forth sometimes."

Fermat nodded once. "Ah, I understand n-now. I was w-wondering because I didn't s-see anyone."

"I was there later in the day, when the track and field events were going on," Kay replied. "Would have sat with you, but didn't want to interrupt time with your Dad."

"N-No problem," Fermat replied. "I'm sorry I d-didn't see you."

"Hey, A.J.," Jason asked, turning toward the boy. "How was your weekend? Did you do anything special with your dad?"

"Yeah, actually, I did." A.J. took a swig of his milk. "We went to visit Gillette's Castle."

"Really? Is it a real castle?" Kay asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, it's real enough. A big castle made of bumpy stones. It was built about 100 years ago by an actor who liked to play Sherlock Holmes on stage. He designed it all himself." A.J. took another bite of his waffle, settling in to chew. When he'd finished, he continued his description. "It's way up on a hill overlooking the Connecticut River, and it's really cool-looking place. The guy used to have a mini-train track all around the grounds; you can still see some of the trestles when you drive into the park. Our cook packed us a picnic lunch and we ate there, then toured parts of the castle. It was wicked fun."

"That would be a cool thing to do," Jason said. "I mean, how many real castles are there in the States anyway?"

The quartet looked at each other, and all of them shrugged.

Though the day seemed normal enough, Alan had a definite sense of déjà vu in his Spanish class. Dr. Cambioso glanced at his computer and frowned. He finished what he was saying, projected a translation exercise onto the white board, gave instructions – and scribbled a note. Then, as he made the rounds to help his struggling students, he dropped the note off at Alan's desk.

"Gracias, señor," Alan murmured. He opened the note, then sighed. The note read: _The District Attorney would like to speak to you after classes. Conference room 211 in the Student Center. _Fermat gave him a questioning look, and he handed the note over. Once he'd read it, Fermat passed it back, giving his friend a sympathetic half-smile.

When classes were through, the two boys walked over to the Student Center together.

"I w-wonder what the D.A. wants to t-talk to you about," Fermat mused aloud.

Alan shrugged. "Probably something to do with Sugi."

"I hope you d-don't have to t-testify or something like that."

"Me, too." Alan glanced at his watch. "Coach is not going to be happy."

As they reached the conference room, Fermat put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "W-Want me to w-wait for you?"

Shaking his head, Alan replied, "Nah. No need. I'll be fine."

"It's no t-trouble, really." Fermat's tone was slightly insistent. "I can sit here and d-do homework."

Alan gazed at his friend's earnest face for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay. I guess I could use the support after all. Can I leave my stuff with you?"

Fermat smiled at Alan, and nodded, then dropped his backpack by the door. Alan took off his pack and handed it to Fermat. He squared his shoulders, and knocked.

Mr. Magnuson opened the door. "Hello, Alan. C'mon in." He glanced at Fermat, who was now sitting on the floor, a questioning look on his face. "Are you going to wait here, Fermat?"

"Y-Yes, sir."

"That's good. We shouldn't be long." With that, Magnuson closed the door. Fermat took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then pulled out his laptop.

"Hello, Alan." Palmer Wolfe rose to his feet. "It's good to see you again." They shook hands, then Wolfe indicated a sandy-haired man who had also risen when Alan walked in. "This is Berkshire County District Attorney, Alec Johansen."

Johansen held out his hand and gave Alan a toothy smile, one that made Alan think more of a politician than a lawyer. "Good to meet you, Alan." They shook hands, then Alec indicated a chair. "We have your father here on conference call."

Jeff's face looked out at them from a laptop screen, just as before. He smiled at his son. "Hey, Alan. How was your day, son?"

"It was okay." Alan took the seat indicated. "Did Gordon get home safe?"

"Yes, they did. He and Brains are resting. You did a great job on Saturday, son. I'm very proud of you."

That got a small smile from Alan. "Thanks, Dad."

The District Attorney settled himself back into his chair. "Well, now to business. I'm here to discuss what's going on with this case. We've wrapped up the charges we're bringing, and the judge will be rendering a final sentence on Lee Sugimoto tomorrow. We thought it would be wise to bring you up to speed on any unresolved aspects of the case." He shook his head and smiled, a bit nervously. "The press will be all over this story tomorrow, and I didn't want you to hear about this on the news, Mr. Tracy. I thought it would be better to tell you myself."

"We appreciate that, Mr. Johansen," Jeff said, his expression wary.

Alec smiled again, and Alan thought his resemblance to a politician up for re-election was stronger than ever. He picked up a data pad from the walnut table, and began to peruse it.

"Well, the first – and easiest – is Steven Ulrich. He pleaded guilty to assault and battery, and is serving twelve months probation..."

"Twelve months... probation?" Jeff sounded incredulous. "For what he did to my son? No time at all in jail?"

Wolfe cleared his throat. "Mr. Tracy. I know it doesn't sound like an appropriate sentence for what happened to Alan..." Jeff opened his mouth to speak, but Wolfe forestalled him with a raised finger. "The judge has guidelines to go by. Mr. Ulrich had no prior record. He didn't use a weapon on Alan. Alan's injuries were minor..."

"Minor? Wolfe, you've seen what they did to Alan's face!" Jeff's voice was hard, and he glowered, eyes narrowed. "Johansen, have you seen the pictures?"

The District Attorney replied, "Yes. Yes, I did. But Mr. Wolfe is right. According to the sentencing guidelines, his injuries weren't life-threatening, and will eventually heal or be repaired. That puts them in a minor class." Johansen held up his hands. "I'm sorry. Between that, the fact that he pleaded guilty, and his lack of prior record, Steven's sentence had to be light."

Jeff said nothing; his jaw was clamped shut and his eyes were shooting daggers at the men in the room. Finally he ground out, "What about Lee Sugimoto? Will he get a similar sentence?"

Johansen huffed out a breath. "Yes and no." He consulted his data pad. "We decided not to charge him with a hate crime, or for the other assault. There just wasn't enough solid evidence to convict him there, and those were the two charges where he pleaded not guilty." He paused, waiting to see if Jeff had any comment to make. "Again, Lee has no prior record. He didn't use a deadly weapon. He pleaded guilty to attacking Alan. But he was also the ringleader in the assault on your son, and that upped the seriousness of his crime and added time to his sentence." He paused again, waiting for a reaction. Finally, with a deep breath, he said, "The judge will likely give him a sentence anywhere from eighteen to twenty-four months, which is the maximum allowed by law."

"I can't believe it." Alan's voice caught, His fists clenched in his lap. "He... He..."

"Alan," Jeff began, his anger morphing quickly into concern.

"Alan." Wolfe cut in, his voice soothing, putting a hand on Alan's shoulder. "There's more."

"More?" Alan glanced over at his father, who looked confused.

"Yes, there's more." Johansen nodded, stifling a relieved sigh. "Because he was pushing other students to use the steroids, and providing them, Lee Sugimoto has some felony drug charges to deal with. Distribution of an illegally obtained substance, distributing drugs near a school, possession... most of these require mandatory sentences of at least two years each, and we expect him to plead guilty to all of them." He crossed one leg over the other at the knee.. "The judge will likely insist he serve the assault charges concurrently with whatever sentence he's given for the steroids." Johansen sat back, obviously pleased with himself. "In any case, he'll be in prison for anywhere from two to six years."

"And Mr. Tracy, Alan, those are _minimum_ sentencing guidelines," Wolfe said, nodding. "He may be saddled with more, depending on the judge." He paused, catching both Alan's and Jeff's gaze. "The other two will be in jail for much, much longer. They have multiple counts of drug manufacturing, distribution... the list is as long as my arm. And in that list are the assaults and the hate crime charges."

"I don't remember any of this happening when Pierce was caught over the steroids the first time." Jeff's dark scowl had returned. "If he had been sentenced... he never should have been able to work at Wharton in the first place."

"Were you involved in that, Mr. Tracy?" The District Attorney scrolled through his pad's list, frowning.

"In a way. My older son, Gordon, was attending Wharton at the time. Pierce pressured him to take the steroids, but he wouldn't. He also was the one to turn Pierce in." Jeff's voice was cool and haughty.

Alec stopped scrolling and skimmed over whatever was on his pad. "According to what I have here, Pierce wasn't yet 18 when he was caught the first time, and he was tried as a juvenile." Alec shook his head. "I don't know how that happened; it was before my election. I suspect someone applied pressure somewhere. In any case, his records would have been sealed, so I can't comment further."

Mr. Magnuson cleared his throat. "We're looking into how he managed to get hired here, Mr. Tracy. Dr. MacDonald has ordered a full investigation."

Jeff turned back to the District Attorney. "And this Ulrich boy? Didn't he have any issues with the steroids?"

"No, Mr. Tracy." Johansen shook his head. "Though he used the steroids, he didn't have any in his possession at the time of arrest or on a search of his quarters. He may get some treatment for them, but no charges were filed on that count."

"What about Ralph?" Alan suddenly asked. "What's going to happen to him?"

"Ralph?" Johansen looked a bit confused.

"Ralph Santiago," Mr. Magnuson explained. "He originally decoyed Alan to the ambush, then had a change of heart and reported what was going on, first to his roommate, then to me."

Johansen scrolled down his data pad. "I don't see..."

Wolfe took out his own PDA and began to search. "I believe he cooperated with the police in both the matter of the steroid ring and the assault on Alan. Others of the ring were caught because of his testimony." He stopped his search, and nodded slightly. "Yes. Here it is. Detective Larson told us Ralph was handled as a juvenile."

"Ah, I see." Johansen put his pad down, and said, "I really can't comment on this young man's disposition as it would have been handled through Juvenile Court. But if he was as cooperative as you say, and this was a first offense, I'm sure the judge was very lenient with him."

Alan nodded, his lower lip caught in his teeth. He let it slide through and spoke in a low voice. "I'm glad. He wasn't a bad guy, he just..." He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He just got in with the wrong people. It could have been me if I'd stayed..." Swallowing, Alan paused again, then finished his thought. "...if I had still been Sugi's roommate."

There was a momentary silence in the room, one which Jeff broke. "I take it that Alan won't have to testify against any of these creeps?"

Johansen shook his head. "Not at all. As I said, all of them pleaded guilty to the assault. The recording your company submitted saw to that. We expect Lee to plead guilty to the drug charges, as Mickey and Pierce have."

"Well, that's something." Jeff's gruff tone modulated a little bit. "Wolfe, did we get that restraining order against Daniel Sugimoto?"

Wolfe nodded decisively. "We did, Mr. Tracy."

"Good. I don't want that man anywhere near Alan."

"We'll have a copy of it on file here, Mr. Tracy," Mr. Magnuson said, sounding confident. "We'll make sure Alan's safe."

"I hope so, Mr. Magnuson." Jeff glanced at each man, then turned his gaze to his son. "Alan?"

Alan, who had been gazing off at nothing, started. "Y-Yeah, Dad?"

"Are you okay?"

Alan didn't meet his father's gaze and nodded quickly, a bit too quickly to Jeff's eye. "Yeah. I'll be okay."

"Do you have any questions?" Palmer Wolfe prompted quietly. His eyes flicked between father and son. "Either of you?"

"When will he... I mean Sugi... when will he go to jail?" The question seemed to startle the District Attorney.

"He's in jail right now, Alan," Johansen said. "He may stay in the Berkshire County jail or may be moved to a state prison. That will be up to the judge." He paused. "The older two are already in a state prison. Mr. Ulrich, being a local and on probation, will remain in the county."

"What about the steroid use itself?" Jeff was sitting back in his chair, using a stylus to draw invisible designs on his desk. "Dr. Sugimoto had his son at the hospital, undergoing tests to see if the stuff he was taking had altered Lee's personality, making him more aggressive... giving him an opportunity to play the 'under the influence' card." He paused, tossing the stylus onto his desk with a clatter. "Will the judge take _that_ into consideration?"

"For where he is incarcerated, most certainly," Wolfe said, nodding. "He may need access to a treatment program to help him deal with the aftereffects of the steroids. But as to the length of the sentence? No. That won't change. The minimum sentences are mandatory."

"I see."

There was another lull in the conversation, the longest yet. Palmer Wolfe looked from man to man to man to boy. Then he reached for his briefcase and slipped his PDA inside. "Gentlemen. Any other questions or comments?"

No one said anything, and Johansen took it as a cue to say, "Well, then. Let's wrap this up." He turned to Jeff. "I've emailed you my contact information, Mr. Tracy, in case you need it." He smiled his politician's smile again. "An honor to meet you, sir."

Jeff nodded, his face less grim and more weary. "Thank you for you help, Mr. Johansen. If I have any questions, I'll be in touch."

Johansen turned again to Alan and offered his hand. "Good to meet you, too, Alan."

Alan reciprocated. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Johansen."

"You take care now, young man."

"I will, sir."

Mr. Magnuson had risen and made his farewells to Jeff and Wolfe, then escorted the District Attorney out. That left Jeff with Alan and his lawyer.

"This should have been wrapped up already," Jeff groused, scowling again.

"Johansen and the police needed to investigate the other assault more thoroughly, to see if there was enough evidence to include Sugimoto. Now they're done, and now we can rest for a bit." Wolfe finished packing up his briefcase.

"For a bit?" Alan asked, his face stricken. "I thought it was over. Sugi's in jail."

Wolfe gave Alan a weary, compassionate look. "Alan, eventually he'll be out on parole. The system is overcrowded, and if a felon – which is what Lee Sugimoto is right now – behaves well and follows any treatment option that he's given, the courts will eventually let him out." He reached out to touch Alan's shoulder again. "It's not something you have to worry about. I'm sure he'll still be in jail by the time you finish at Wharton."

"Are you really that frightened of him, Alan?" Jeff asked, sitting forward so his worried face filled the screen. "If you are..."

Alan shook his head. "I'm not scared of him, Dad. I just never want to hear or think about him again. Ever. I want it to be over."

There was a knock on the door, and Wolfe went over to open it and converse with whoever was outside. He glanced at Alan. "Should I let your friend in?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah."

Fermat came in, Alan's backpack in one hand, his own in the other, and his laptop slung over one shoulder. "I saw M-Mr. Mags leave. He said it would b-be okay to c-come in." He glanced over at the computer on the table, and grinned. "Hi, M-Mr. Tracy!"

"Hello there, Fermat." Jeff couldn't help smiling. "I hear you and your team kicked butt on Friday night, and you were the winning player."

Fermat blushed. "Yeah, we d-did. But it was a t-t-team effort. It always is."

"Oh, hey," Alan jumped into the conversation. "Fermat, this is my lawyer, Mr. Wolfe. Mr. Wolfe, my best friend, Fermat."

"Nice to m-meet you, sir," Fermat said, easing Alan's backpack to the floor and holding out his hand.

"And to meet you... Fermat, is it?" Mr. Wolfe looked nonplussed. "That's an interesting name."

The boy shrugged. "It's what p-people call me."

"Well, on that note, I'd better be going." Wolfe said, picking up his briefcase. "Alan, do you have my contact information?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Good. If you have any questions at all about your case, don't hesitate to call. I want you to know and understand everything that's going on."

Alan nodded, sucking in his lower lip again, and letting it slide between his teeth.

"Thanks, Wolfe, for being here today." Jeff had settled back in his chair again.

"You're welcome, Mr. Tracy. I'll be in touch." Wolfe left the room, closing the door behind him.

"So, what's next on your agenda, Alan? Fermat?" Jeff asked.

"Going and apologizing to Coach for missing practice is on mine," Alan said, his tone glum."I just hope he doesn't cut me from the team."

"I think Mr. Magnuson might help you with that, son." Jeff had the stylus in his hand again. "And I doubt Coach Evans will cut you because you were meeting with an elected official... one who wants to be remembered well at election time."

Alan chuckled. "He gave you that vibe, too, Dad?"

"Yes, he did." Jeff shook his head. "I hope he doesn't expect me to contribute to his campaign, or give him an endorsement." He snorted and turned to Fermat. "What's on your plate for this evening?"

"Not m-much," Fermat admitted. "I f-f-finished most of my homework while w-waiting for Alan." He turned toward his friend. "I saved m-math so we can work on it t-t-t... as a t-team."

"Thanks, Fermat." Alan held out a fist; Fermat tapped the top with his own, then let Alan do the same for him.

There was a knock at the door, and Alan called, "Come in."

Mr. Magnuson entered, scanning the room briefly before settling on the two boys and Jeff's image in the computer. "Just let me know when you're finished, Alan..."

"We're done here, I think," Jeff said. "I can catch up with Alan a bit later via phone... when it isn't quite so early in the day here."

The comment made Alan smile. "Is it hot there yet?" he asked.

"Getting there, son, getting there." With a nod, Jeff indicated Mr. Magnuson. "You'd better get going, Alan. Let Mr. Magnuson do what he has to. And don't forget about the note."

"Oh, right!" Alan turned to glance at the security chief, then went back to his father. "Have a good day, Dad. Say 'hi' to everyone for me."

"I will, son, on both counts. I'll give your dad a hello from you, too, Fermat."

"Th-Thanks, Mr. Tracy!"

Jeff smiled. "Have a good evening, boys. Talk to you soon." With that, he reached over and the window went blank.

Mr. Magnuson moved in. "Okay, boys. You can go. I'll take care of this."

"Uh, Mr. Magnuson?" Alan shouldered his backpack. "Could you give me a note or something for Coach Evans? He'll want to know why I missed practice."

"Already taken care of, Alan." Mr. Mags looked up from the computer as he removed the power cords and wireless tab. "Dr. Cambioso wasn't the only one I notified of this meeting. But if you still need a note, let me know and I'll email one to him."

"Thanks, Mr. Mags." Alan sounded relieved. "I appreciate it." He flicked his hand at Fermat. "C'mon, let's go."

They left the conference room, and as they approached the elevator, Fermat asked, "So, what h-h-happened in there?"

Alan pressed a button to summon the lift. Immediately, a "ding!" sounded, and the elevator opened onto an empty car. They stepped inside, and only when the doors were fully closed again did Alan speak.

"Well, it's like this..."

_

* * *

What does Penny's information mean? Will IR be able to use Dr. Sugimoto's camera? Will John and Virgil get to visit? Are Alan's troubles really over? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	70. Unfeigned Reactions

_Author's note: _Zave shows concern. Fermat is questioned. Sugi's fate is revealed. John weighs in. A change in the weather. A procedure explained. An unexpected consequence. Thanks to Susanmartha and Kat for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"Hey, Pinky!" Zave was waiting in front of the dining hall, hands thrust deep in his pockets, his braids covered by his knit team cap. "What happened to you yesterday? We missed you at practice. You okay?"

Alan groaned internally as he approached the building. _I don't need this now. It took forever to bring Fermat up to speed and he had tons of questions that I couldn't answer. I'm glad no one else knew about the meeting. I just don't want to talk about it. Not now, not yet. I told Fermat so. After all, Sugi hasn't been sentenced yet. It's not fair to talk about it as if he already has been._

"Pinky?" Zave's voice broke in on Alan's musing.

"Uh, hey, Zave." Alan raised a hand in greeting. "I'm okay. I... uh... I had some stuff to work out."

He passed the older boy, who turned and, with one or two long strides, caught up with him before they reached the steps.

"'Stuff', huh?" Zave sounded doubtful. "Coach said you'd been excused from practice, but wouldn't tell me why. He told me to give you some space, or else I would have talked to you last night about it." He reached out and grasped Alan's shoulder, forcing the younger boy to stop and face him. "Coach doesn't just do that, y'know. So, what happened?" When Alan said nothing, he added, "You know I've got your back, don't you, Pinky?"

Alan sighed and nodded. "Yeah, Zave, I know. It's just... I really can't talk about it. Not now, anyway. Ask me again in a couple of days."

Zave gave Alan's face a searching look, then nodded. "Okay, then. A couple of days it is. But I'll want straight answers then." He inclined his head in the direction of the doors. "C'mon, let's get inside. It's freezing out here, and I'm starving."

xxxx

The rest of the day went as normal, though Alan felt as if there was a weight hanging over his head, ready to fall on him. He was unusually subdued during lunch, which both Jason and Qaeshon noticed, though neither of them made a comment. Instead, they sought out Fermat.

"What's with Pinky?" Jason asked softly as he stood behind Fermat in the tray return line. "He's been a sourpuss all day."

Fermat sighed. "It'll p-pass, Jase. Just don't a-ask him right now. A l-little later, maybe. During d-dinner."

"You know something. So, why not tell us?" Qaeshon was behind Jason and was straining to hear the conversation. "We're his friends, too."

"H-He asked me not to tell," Fermat explained. There was a pause as he handed the tray to the woman standing before the dishwasher. "Just be p-patient. It'll c-come out s-soon."

Alan made it to practice, and Coach Evans sought him out. "If you need to talk to someone, Alan, I'm here. I'm no stranger to this sort of situation."

The offer earned him a small smile. "Thanks, Coach. I'll keep that in mind."

At dinner, however, it was Jason who finally broke Alan's internal tension. He cleared his throat, and took a deep breath.

"Hey, Pinky?"

Alan glanced over, his fork midway to his mouth. "Yeah, Jase?"

"I, uh, I heard on the news that Sugi was finally sentenced today."

The whole table fell silent, and all eyes turned toward Alan. Alan ate what was on his fork, then put his utensils down with deliberation. He took a drink of milk, and ran a tongue over his lips. "Yeah, Jase. I know. The District Attorney discussed it with me and my dad yesterday afternoon." Turning to Zave, he added, "That's the answer to your question this morning. I had to meet with him about this mess. And I didn't think it was right to talk about it until Sugi had actually been sentenced."

"It's cool, Alan. It's cool."

"What was his sentence?" A.J. asked. "Will he go to jail or be on probation?"

"The news report said he'd be in jail, but mostly because of the steroids. Distributing near a school, possession of illegally obtained drugs... there were a couple of other charges." Jason scowled. "He's supposed to be serving the assault charges at the same time, but he's going to be in jail for eight years."

"How much did he get for the assault charges?" Kay asked. "Did they charge him with E... with the other assault? Did they go for hate crimes?"

"The District Attorney said there wasn't enough evidence to charge him with assaulting that other guy," Alan said, his voice flat. "And... they didn't charge him with hate crimes in my assault either. Same reason." He glanced over at Jason. "What was the sentence? The District Attorney gave me a ballpark figure..."

"Twenty months," Jason said, his scowl deepening. "It should have been more."

"Damn right it should have been," Zave said, attacking his food as if it had something to do with the sentence. "Sugi messed you over but good."

"Not according to the law." Alan picked up his fork again, and resumed eating. "According to them, my injuries were minor."

There was silence again, which Qaeshon broke. "Minor? That makes no sense."

Alan shrugged. "Doesn't make much sense to me either, but that's how the law around here defines it."

Taking their cue from Alan, the boys went back to eating. Finally, Jason asked, "Did you hear anything about Ralph?"

"Yeah, what happened to him?" A.J. asked.

"The D.A. didn't know for sure because Ralph was tried as a juvenile, but he said that the judge was probably lenient because Ralph had been cooperative." Alan finished his entrée and started on his dessert. "And both Mickey and Pierce will be in jail for a long time."

"Well, that's good to know," Kay said, nodding. "Wish I could get them to pay for my music and stuff, but at least they're off the streets."

"R-Right. The whole m-mess is o-over now," Fermat declared. He glanced at Alan. "It's all o-over."

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, but Fermat noticed that Alan was shaking his head slightly. His heart sank. _I don't think he really believes it._

xxxx

Later that evening, Alan was online, searching for information regarding his science project. "You'd think I could come up with something cool," he muttered sotto voce. "But Dad's not really involved in biology."

Suddenly, a box popped up on his screen with the words, "Stahman4evah would like to start a vid conversation with you. Accept or decline."

Alan smiled, and clicked on "Accept", putting his cellphone mike in his ear and plugging it into his computer. The box became bigger, and John's face appeared in it. The background was the same "office" hologram that had been used before, and John was wearing the same shirt.

"Hey, John!"

"Hello, there, wildracerdude." John grinned at him. "Or should I just call you Pinky?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "Tell you what: you can call me Pinky if I can call you..." He tried to think fast, but the only thing that came to mind was Sable's usage of "Blondie".

John's grin widened. "Call me what, Pinky?"

"Uh..." The images page he had called up was still visible behind the chat box, and he could make out a picture of a baboon. "I know! I'll call you the BBB."

His brother's expression became wary. "Better Business Bureau?"

"Nah." Now Alan's face wore the wide grin. "Bleached Blond Baboon."

John's eyes grew wide, and his jaw dropped. For several breaths, he said nothing. Then he started to chuckle, which grew to a guffaw, then a belly-busting laugh. Alan, pleased with his sally, laughed too, but not as loud or long as – out of the corner of one eye – he saw his roommate give him a questioning look.

"Oh, hey!" Alan unplugged his earphone from the computer, and waved Dom over to his desk. "Let me introduce you to my roommate... that is, if you can stop laughing like a hyena." Dom, seeing Alan's intention, ambled over. "John, this is Dom Bertoli, yearbook editor and roommate to yours truly. Dom, meet my second-eldest brother, John G. Tracy, astronomer and writer."

John gulped air, getting his laughter and breathing under control, wiped his eyes, then waved. "Hey, Dom. Good to meet you."

Dom returned the wave. "Hello, Mr. Tracy. Nice to meet you, too."

John snorted a laugh. "Just call me John. Save the 'Mr. Tracy' stuff for our Dad." He paused. "So yearbook editing. How do you like it? Are things coming together?"

"Yeah, it's coming along, and I do like it, but sometimes it's crazy-making, if you know what I mean." Dom grinned. "Things never go fast as I'd like them to, and things go wrong when you least expect them to." He shook his head slightly. "Publishing deadlines are the pits."

"Oh, yeah. I hear you. I know all about those publishing deadlines," John said, nodding. "In fact, I'm supposed to be revising one of my books for a second edition, but decided to catch up with my little brother instead."

Alan snorted. "Anything to keep from working, huh, John?"

"Hey, I'm sure I could find something more exciting to do... Pinky. Spider solitaire comes to mind."

All three young men laughed, and Dom took that as a cue to return to his work. "I'd better get back to my homework. It was nice to meet you, John."

"Likewise, Dom. Hopefully we'll meet face to face sometime soon." John gave Dom a sloppy salute, and Alan plugged in his headphones as Dom returned to his own desk.

"So, how are you doing, Alan?" John had settled back in his chair, a drink pouch in hand. "I saw your track meet. Looked like you were having trouble during that last bit of the race. You just about fell down that hill."

Alan rubbed the back of his neck and looked sheepish. "Yeah, I got a little sidetracked at one part of the course and had to catch up. I did come in second, though."

"Which is nothing to sneeze at," John said, his tone agreeable. "And I heard your team won the meet. We'll work on technique over Christmas vacation." He emptied the juice pouch, sucking on the straw until the plastic was nearly flattened. With careful aim, he tossed it out of the camera range, just as if he were tossing a basketball. "Damn. Missed."

"Sounds like you could use a little work on your hoop skills," Alan commented, grinning. "We can work on it when I see you again."

"Right. In your dreams, Pinky." John sobered, looking straight at the picture of his brother. "I also heard something important happened today. Your attacker was sentenced."

Alan let out a long, weary sigh. He lowered his voice. "Yeah. He was. Not exactly what I expected, though. If he hadn't been involved in pushing those steroids, he'd probably be out on probation, like one of the other guys."

"But his involvement with the steroids gave him jail time?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Alan nodded. "Yeah."

"How do you feel about that?" John was watching his brother carefully, though he had schooled his face to a bland expression.

"I... I dunno, really. Still trying to take it all in, I think. Kinda numb, kinda relieved." He blew out a long breath and shrugged. "I want it to be over, but, somehow, I still feel it's not. I mean, he'll get out on parole some day. What's going to happen then?"

John rubbed his chin for a minute, then ran a hand through his hair. One blond wave detached itself from the rest and drooped down to curl over his right brow. "I don't know, Alan. I don't know what will happen. But I do know that you can't live your life wondering 'what if'." He leaned forward. "After... that incident last spring, I had a hard time getting past it. I was afraid that the culprit would do some kind of mumbo-jumbo in prison and get out, or he'd hypnotize the jury and walk free. I still think about that from time to time."

Alan thought about Lady Penelope and Parker, and the excruciating pain the Hood had put them through, and he shuddered. John noticed, and cleared his throat. "It was hard coming back here, too. I'd lost all confidence, and would start at any noise, any stray beeping from the console. What helped me was talking things out to a professional."

"Like... a counselor?" Alan looked thoughtful. "Grandma said that I should talk to somebody."

John smiled, a soft, warm expression. "Leave it to Grandma to take the tiger by the tail. Yeah. I mean a counselor. Someone unbiased who you can talk it out with, and give you skills for coping." He leaned forward, his face filling the little screen. "You have the advantage that what happened to you is more or less public. There's no reason to hide anything."

The thought hadn't occurred to Alan, and he frowned a little. "How did you hide... y'know, the _family business_ from your counselor?"

"Well..." John drew out the single syllable. "I was fortunate enough that Dad knew someone who was already sort of... involved, shall we say?"

"You mean like Mr. Trumbull? A.J.'s dad?" At John's slightly blank look, Alan explained further. "He's a lawyer, and sort of 'involved' like that." When John still didn't seem to understand, Alan rolled his eyes. "Like Lady Penelope."

"Ah!" John's face cleared, and he nodded. "Yeah. Just like Mr. Trumbull, only he was a counselor. It wasn't easy to schedule appointments with him; we're in very different time zones, but we managed."

"You mean, you had counseling appointments while you were in... you were at work?"

"Yeah, basically."

"I wonder if I could do that."

John shook his head. "I think you should see someone local, someone who can either come to you or you can go to them. I'm sure the school has the names of people who work with kids."

"Why does it have to be someone who works with kids?" Alan frowned. "I'm not exactly a kid, y'know."

"And you're not exactly an adult, either," John shot back. "I mean, you still see a pediatrician, right?"

Alan thought of Dr. Gupta. "Yeah, I guess."

"That's because kids have needs that adults don't have, and vice versa. Same for a counselor. You want someone who understands your needs as someone who isn't yet an adult – as much as you want to be considered one." John gave Alan a wry smile. "This betwixt and between business isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it?"

"No." Alan's tone was emphatic. He shook his head slowly, then paused for a moment, remembering something his grandmother had written. "Hey, this guy who counseled you; was he the one who helped Dad out after Mom died?"

"How'd you hear about that?" His brother looked surprised. "I'd almost forgotten about it."

"Grandma mentioned it."

"Ah, I see." John sat back again, a thoughtful frown on his face. He shook his head slightly. "No, I don't think so. This guy was a good friend of Dad's back in the day, and I don't think he'd have taken Dad on as a client. They were too close."

"Who was he? I mean, if he were someone close to Dad, wouldn't we have known him?"

"Nah. He moved to Canada at some point. Prince Edward Isle. That's why we had trouble connecting."

"Okay. I see."

"Oh, and if you choose someone local, make sure Dad knows. He'll want to dig into the the counselor's background for himself.'

Alan started at this bit of advice. "Hmm, I hadn't thought about that. I'll be sure to let him know."

The conversation flagged a little until John asked, "So, did you have a good visit with Gordon?"

Alan grinned and nodded. "Yeah. I learned some new stuff about Wharton, like where the quiet rooms are. And he learned never to take a bunch of teenagers out to dinner. Man, the look on his face when he got the check!"

His brother laughed. "Fortunately, he's good for it. I'm glad you had a good time." Picking up a data pad, John asked, "So, when's your next home game?"

"In two weeks; why?"

"Well, I'd like to get out and see a meet. Maybe I can talk Dad into letting me come home a week early or something."

Alan's eyes shone, and he grinned. "That'd be great, John! Maybe you can bring Virge with you, too."

"Whoa!" John held up his hands. "Dad might not like letting two of us go at one time, but I'll see what I can do. And don't count on it, yet. I'll have to convince the old man that the trip up and back is worth it."

"I'll wait to hear from you about it." The smile hadn't faded. "I mean, there's no reason why Virge couldn't come out for an away game, is there?"

"I could come out for one, too, I suppose, but for what I have in mind, a home game works better."

"What do you mean by that?" Alan's expression turned to a wary one. "What are you planning?"

His eyes narrowed in a sly, teasing expression, John smirked. "Oh, it's nothing important. Just something I thought you might appreciate."

"Oh no, you don't! Tell me!"

"You'll just have to wait. I'm pretty sure you'll like it, though."

"Not fair! Now I'm going to go crazy wondering!"

"All the better."

In the background, there was a muted beeping noise, and the lights flashed slightly. John frowned. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I did. The lights flashed, too."

"Damn. Gotta work on this office thing some more." He sat up straight. "I've gotta go now, Alan. Duty calls. It's been great talking to you."

"Great to see you, too, John. Let me know what Dad says."

"Right. Talk to you again soon."

"Okay." Alan hesitated for a moment, then added softly, "Love you, John."

John smiled. "I know that, Al. Love you, too."

The box within a box disappeared, and the words, "Stahman4evah has disconnected this call," appeared where the vid screen had been. Alan clicked on the X in the upper corner, and removed his headset.

"Sounds like you had a good talk with your brother," Dom commented.

"Yeah, I did." Alan rolled his shoulders one at a time, then with a sigh, went back to his search.

xxxx

"Alan!" The urgent voice was accompanied by someone shaking his shoulder. "Alan! Get up!"

"I don' wanna get up," Alan mumbled, swatting at the hand. One eye pried itself half-open and glanced at the alarm clock. "No' time t' geddup." He rolled to face the wall and pulled his covers up over his head.

"I know it's not time to get up, but you gotta see this!" There was a sigh, then in tones of both exasperation and delight, the voice added, "It's _snowing_!"

That got Alan's attention. He levered himself to one elbow, blinking in the half-gloom. Dom had the blinds on their window halfway up; the glare of the security light behind the building threw his figure into sharp silhouette as he peered out. Alan rubbed his eyes, pushed back his blankets, and slithered to the floor, joining Dom at the window.

"Whoa!" he breathed as he looked out. The small, glistening flakes were floating lazily to the ground, illuminated golden by the halogen lamp on its tall pole. "That's awesome."

"Isn't it?" Dom's tones were as hushed as Alan's. "I can never get enough of it. We don't see it much in Florida."

"How long has it been coming down?" Alan asked, not bothering to pry his gaze away from the gauzy apparition.

"I dunno. I woke up to use the john and noticed it on the way back." Dom craned his neck to see what effect the snow was having on the ground. "Must not have been long though. It doesn't seem to be sticking."

"Don't know why not; it's sure been cold enough lately." Alan turned to his roommate. "Do you think they'll cancel classes?"

Dom shook his head. "For this? No way. It'll take a real whopper of a storm for Wharton to cancel. They won't even consider this a nuisance." He blew on the window, fogging it, and drew a smiley face in the quickly evaporating mist. "Now, if we were in Florida, that'd be a different story."

"I hope it snows all day," Alan said, his tone fervent.

"Me, too, Alan. Me, too."

xxxx

"H-Hey, A.J.! Come look!"

A.J., who was busily combing his hair in the bathroom, stuck his head out. "What is it?"

"It's sn-sn-snowing!"

"Really?" A.J. came out, still combing his hair, and joined Fermat at the window. "Hey! Cool!"

Fermat grinned. "And here I th-thought you'd say how b-boring it is, the way you d-dismiss the cold w-weather."

A.J. stopped combing and shook his head. "Nope. First snowfall is always special, especially when it's early like this. It doesn't seem to be sticking to anything much, though. I doubt we'll get much of an accumulation."

"It's s-sticking to the trees," Fermat said, pointing to the large oak that sat directly across from their room. "Makes the bare branches look c-cool."

"Yeah, you're right. We may get some slush on the walkways then." As A.J. turned to go back to the bathroom, both boys could hear a loud, sharp crack.

"Hey!" Fermat pointed to something falling on the other side of the tree. "A b-b-b... limb is coming down!"

"Looks like a big one, too!" A.J. had rejoined Fermat at the window. "Let's finished getting dressed and see where it came from."

In a few minutes, both boys had joined the small crowd surrounding the branch. "Wow. That's big," A.J. said, giving a low whistle..

"And l-look at how much fungus and l-lichen is on it. It looks pretty r-r-rotted." Fermat shielded his eyes and gazed up, getting a smattering of snowflakes on his glasses for his trouble. Nevertheless, he pointed upward. "I think it c-came down from th-there. About 30 feet up and t-to the left."

The others looked up, and a murmur of agreement swept through the handful of students. Suddenly, a voice called out, "Okay, boys, break it up!"

Fermat turned to see Mr. Magnuson and Mr. Culp approaching. They had a driven up in a golf cart, one that was towing a small, open trailer. The trailer was full of metal spikes that looked like needles for a giant. "Move away, boys. This is a dangerous place to be standing," Mr. Culp said. "Another branch could come down at any moment."

The boys backed away, most of them turning in the direction of the dining hall. Only Fermat and A.J. remained, and A.J., too, seemed to be anxious to move away.

"Will you be t-taking the t-tree down?" Fermat asked as Culp started pulling the metal stakes from the trailer.

"We'll have an expert out here soon to tell us what to do to, Fermat," Mr. Mags told him. "In the meanwhile, we're going to cordon this off. You'll probably have to use the side entrances until further notice." He waved in the direction of the sidewalk and Oakwood dorm. "You'd better get a move on, now. Breakfast waits for no student."

"Y-Yes, sir." Fermat turned, walking across the slightly slushy access road to join A.J. on the sidewalk. He kept glancing over his shoulder as he did, and saw Mr. Culp holding one of the stakes, while Mr. Magnuson used a heavy sledgehammer to drive it a short ways into the ground. Once satisfied that the first was in securely, Mr. Magnuson moved over a bit, and the two men planted another.

"C'mon, Fermat." A.J. pulled on his arm. "I'm hungry."

Fermat's stomach rumbled in agreement. "Right. L-Let's go."

xxxx

"Hey, Zave?"

"Yeah, Pinky?"

"What happens if it snows on a day when we're supposed to have a meet?"

They were heading back to the gym after the morning run. The ground – for the most part - had been wet and muddy, with a bit of slush where they'd run on the macadam. The snow hadn't increased; it still came down in a steady, light cascade. It deadened the sound of running feet, and made visibility tough for those few team members who wore glasses.

Zave sighed. "On the days when snow makes it impossible to have a match, but it's not too dangerous to travel, we get up really early and travel to Worcester."

"Worcester? Where's that? And what's there?" Alan pulled his snow-laden cap from his head as they entered the gym.

"Worcester is sort of in the middle of the state, and one of the colleges there has an indoor track. You can hold a whole track and field meet there. Running, throwing, jumping – you can do it all." Zave smoothed a hand over his braids. "It's a great place, but it does take time to get there, especially when driving conditions make the bus drivers cautious."

"What about cross-country?" By now they had reached the locker room. Alan swiped his ID badge through the device on his locker, and the light on it turned green. He pulled the door open to reach his clothes.

"They usually come up with something, even plowing an outdoor route if necessary." The older boy shrugged. "Cross-country usually gets suspended or canceled when the weather turns really bad."

Alan made a sour face. "That stinks."

"Yeah, I agree." Pulling out his school uniform, Zave headed for the showers. "But it's better to suspend it than risk a major injury." He turned to point at Alan. "And speaking of stinking..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Alan closed his locker door with an elbow, as his hands were busy carrying his uniform. "I get the message."

xxxx

The cottony. light gray clouds grew darker as the snow turned to rain later in the day, disappointing all the students, and not a few of the staff. Walking back from classes, hunched snugly in his warm coat, Fermat noticed from afar that the old oak seemed to be ringed with bright yellow. As he got closer, he realized why. Mr. Magnuson and Mr. Culp had set up a series of the tall spikes around the tree, far out from the trunk, enclosing the length of the longest branches. Bright yellow nylon rope had been threaded through the eye-like openings, and a long strip of "Caution: Do Not Enter" tape had been fastened to the rope. Spikes had been driven into the ground on both sides of Maplewood's entry stairs, making it impossible to get into the dorm that way without entering the protective circle. There was also a sign hung on the rope just before the staircase, telling all and sundry to "Use Side Entrance". There was no sign of the fallen branch.

He sighed, and shifted his backpack to a more comfortable position. _I'm not looking forward to lugging my stuff all the way down to the elevator, but I guess it can't be helped._ Glancing back up at the tree, he tried to make out if any of the remaining limbs were covered with fungus and lichen as the fallen one had been. The rain and snow darkened the oak's bark, making it difficult to see anything in the muted light. As he climbed the steps to the side door, he thought, _I wonder when the experts will get here, or if they've already been and gone. I expect there are lots more branches like that one. I just hope they don't have to take the whole thing down. It'd be a shame to lose such a beautiful old tree like that._

_

* * *

Is Alan's nightmare truly over? Will Alan see a counselor? Will John get to visit? What is the surprise he has planned? When will Virgil come? Will it keep snowing? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	71. Unfamiliar Territory

_Author's note: _Sable vs. Jason, round 3. Alan's first away meet. Thanks to Lillihafrue for betareading. The castle mentioned, Searles Castle, is a real place, and currently houses a school, just not the school in this chapter.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

The snow changing to rain weather lingered for a few days. By Thursday, Alan began to pray for sunshine for Saturday, so the track team wouldn't have to go to Worcester to compete. When Friday dawned cold and sunny, he silently thanked whoever might be listening, and went to breakfast in a cheerful mood.

"You might not be so happy tomorrow," Zave said, his voice and face glum. "Just because it's sunny here today doesn't mean it will be at the other school tomorrow."

"A guy can hope, can't he?" Alan said with a grin.

The day remained sunny, with fluffy white clouds whipping by on the biting wind, and the track was dry enough for practice that afternoon, though the ground was still sloppy. So was the sand in the jump pit, and the high jump landing mat. Alan's shoes were covered in sand and his uniform was both wet and cold by the time he finished practice. He had changed his high jump style to the Fosbury Flop, and though he hit the bar more than once, Zave put it down to unfamiliarity.

"You do whichever you feel most comfortable with tomorrow, Pinky, and it'll all be good."

His long jumps had improved. Out of the several he did, he only hit the plasticine once. He was reminded of Gordon's parting words.

"Good work, Alan," Coach Evans said, nodding. "Now, jump like this tomorrow, and we'll actually get somewhere."

"I'll do my best, Coach."

xxxx

"Hey, Blondie!" Sable was on duty again for the evening meal. "How's that fly-boy brother of yours?"

"He's good, I guess. Haven't heard from him lately." Alan handed her his tray. "I'll tell him you were asking for him."

"You do that. Let him know I owe him dinner next time he's out this way." She glanced up at the line behind Alan. "Hey, where's Specs?"

"Away game for quizzing." A.J. said as he stepped up. "Whizzards will cream the competition."

"So I hear." She smiled widely when Jason, whose face was already turning crimson, stepped up. "The package still hanging to the right, Red?"

"Uh, yeah. It is." Jason thrust his tray in her hands.

She held onto it, and gave him a long, slow wink. "Must be uncomfortable then; last time, you told me it was hanging to the left."

Jason's stricken face first drained of color, then flushed redder than before. He shook his head once, and fled from the tray return as quickly as he could without running. Joining his friends in the lobby, he pressed a hand to his face, sliding it down his cheek, and moaning, "Oh, God. Why does she pick on me?"

"Because you blush so prettily?" Kay offered, grinning.

"Because you get this deer-in-headlights look?" Alan commented, holding back a laugh with difficulty.

"Because your mouth moves like a fish's?" A.J. demonstrated what he meant by pursing his lips into a tight "O" and rapidly opening and closing them.

"Oh, God. Do I really do all that?" Jason moaned again, covering his face with both hands and shaking his head.

"Well," Alan said, rubbing his chin and sounding as if he were seriously considering the matter. "I don't think I've noticed the fish mouth."

The three boys laughed, and Kay clapped a hand on Jason's shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one she teases like this."

"Oh?" Jason uncovered his face. The fierce flush had begun to recede. "Who else gets this treatment?"

"Julio Estevez. Zave says she teases him, too. He, however, usually has a snappy comeback. Looks like we still have to work on that with you."

"Yes, please!" Jason clasped his hands together and looked toward the ceiling. "Please help me come up with something, anything!"

"We'll work on it tomorrow when Pinky gets back from his meet," Kay assured him. "We'll have all of our brainpower assembled then."

"Can we meet in the snack shop?" A.J. asked. "I won't be going home this weekend; Dad'll be in Geneva, and I'd really like a milkshake."

"Sounds good," Alan said. "Let's plan on it. We can celebrate another Whizzards win with the Brain."

The boys shrugged into their jackets and hats, then left, heading for their respective dorms. "I'll walk A.J. up to Maplewood tonight," Kay offered.

"Why?" A.J. asked, looking puzzled. "The danger's over, isn't it? We don't have to walk in groups anymore, do we?" He glanced toward Alan, as if expecting an answer from him.

It was Jason who replied. "A.J., the school still expects it of us. And it's still a wise precaution. The danger _is_ over from Sugi and his fellow nut-cases, but who knows what other idiots are out there? Mr. Mags and his minions can't be everywhere. So, we do what we can to keep ourselves safe. Right, Alan? Kay?"

"Right," Alan said softly. "My dad told me he expects me to be careful and stay safe. I'm sure your dad expects the same of you."

"Mine expects if of me, too," Kay said, nodding. "It's getting dark earlier these days. So, let's help each other out here, okay?"

A.J. sighed, but nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

"So, c'mon, my man. Let's head for Maplewood." Kay put an arm around A.J.'s shoulder and began to guide him toward the door, with Jason and Alan following close behind.

"But..." A.J. stopped in his tracks and turned to face the others.

"But what, A.J.?" Jason said, sounding impatient.

"Can... can I just hang out with you guys for a while tonight?" The boy was trying hard to keep a whine out of his voice. "It's boring in my room without Fermat around."

Alan looked at A.J.'s face, and saw in it a familiar, beseeching look. The look he used to give his brothers when he wanted to be included in something they were doing. The look Fermat used to give him for the same reason, in the days before they had cemented their friendship. He understood that feeling, of being smaller, and younger, and wanting oh-so-much to be acknowledged and included. Suddenly, he smiled.

"Yeah, A.J., you can hang out with me tonight if you want." He turned to the others and asked, "What about it, guys? Wanna hang out with A.J. and me?"

Jason and Kay exchanged glances. Kay shrugged. "I guess so. What do you want to do, Alan?"

They started for the doors again, and with a wry smile on his face, Jason said, "Well, since the Brain isn't here, he can't do what they do every night."

"What's that, Jase?" Alan asked, playing into the joke.

"Why, try to take over the world, of course!"

The four boys laughed, and headed in the direction of the dorms. Kay said, "Maybe we can grab some munchies and find something good on TV tonight. Like another kung-fu movie marathon."

Alan nodded, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. "Sounds like a plan to me."

xxxx

"Hey, Dad." Scott gave his father a wave as he passed by. "What are you up to?"

"Research." Jeff was lounging in what Penelope had called the "hideous hammock", one hand behind his head, netbook perched on his torso where he could see it. Dappled sunlight played across the keyboard, and the fragrant sea breeze kept his shady bower comfortably cool. He scrolled down the page, making little humming noises as he read. Intrigued, Scott came over and peered at the screen, leaning up against the smooth-skinned bole supporting the hammock. What he saw made him frown.

"Counselors?"

Jeff glanced up and met Scott's puzzled look. "Yes. John told me that he'd discussed consulting one with Alan the other day. I want to know as much as I can about the pediatric counselors in Wharton's area so if Alan decides he needs one, they'll already be vetted." He shifted a little, crossed his long legs at the ankle, and went back to the screen. "Of course, I'm not the only one doing this; I have corporate human resources digging deeper."

Scott nodded sagely. "Ah. I get it. You're being proactive about this."

"Yes. If Alan needs the help, I don't want him to have to wait for it." Jeff looked up at his son again. "What are you up to?"

His son shrugged. "I dunno, really. It's been quiet on the rescue front for a while."

"Yes, it has. Too bad that call John got the other day was a false alarm."

Scott sighed. "Yeah. I mean, I'm glad that the local crews were able to handle it, but still..."

"I understand, son. Even life in paradise can be boring at times."

"Hey, Scott!" Virgil's shout caught their attention just before he came hurrying out, waving a data pad.

"Over here, Virge!"

Virgil pulled up next to the hammock. He nodded to his father. "Hey, Dad."

"Hello, son." Jeff smiled and held his hand out for the pad. "What do you have there?"

Virgil handed it over. "Brains finished designing the new camera docking bay on Thunderbird One. He wants to discuss it with Scott."

Jeff scanned the contents of the pad, nodding as he did so. "Looks like Brains is on fire with this project." He handed the pad to Scott.

"Well, he's imposed a deadline on himself," Virgil explained. "He wants the camera ready for testing and calibration with Thunderbird Five when John comes home next weekend."

"Heh." Jeff snorted a laugh. "And here he told me that the work would be done then, which is why I authorized John's return."

"I think he and John cooked this up between themselves." Scott was perusing the pad, frowning as he did so. "You know how much John wants to see the Sprout compete."

"I thought we were done calling Alan 'Sprout'," Jeff said, his tone mild, but one eyebrow raised as if in disapprobation.

"Well, yeah, I guess." Scott rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish expression on his face. "It was just a slip, Dad. Sorry."

"Forgiven. I know how hard it is to break a habit... Scoot."

Scott winced. "Okay. Message received, loud and clear." He hefted the pad. "I'd better go talk to Brains about this. There's got to be a better place for this contraption."

"Please remind Brains that my legal team is still in negotiations with Dr. Sugimoto over the purchase of the camera. The timing has to be such that when we first use it, it will look like we got the plans from another source, and not from him."

Nodding, Scott said, "I'll remind him, but I think the improvements he's making, especially for underwater use, will make it hard for anyone to track our version back to his plans."

He walked off toward the house, breaking into a trot as he neared the sliding door. Virgil moved as if he wanted to follow him, but paused, gazing back at his father with a troubled look.

"Dad?"

Jeff had gone back to his netbook. "Hm?" He glanced up to see Virgil hovering there. "Yes, son?"

Virgil swallowed heavily. "When... when can I..." He took in a deep breath and spat it out. "I'd like to see Alan compete, too."

"Ah." Jeff nodded. "I hadn't forgotten that, Virgil. I'm thinking about sending you along with John. He's got a surprise in store for Alan, but it means a longer flight. A second pilot wouldn't be a bad idea."

Virgil frowned. "But how would you handle a rescue?"

"I think we might manage with four of us here on the ground and Brains acting as command and control from Thunderbird Five."

The frown went from concerned to puzzled. "Four?"

Jeff smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Have you forgotten our Thunderbird-in-training?"

This caused Virgil to blink for a moment, then let out a loud, "Oh!" when realization hit. He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Tin-Tin! Of course!" He shook his head, and snorted, a self-deprecating sound. "Yeah. Things could work that way."

"As I said, I'm still thinking about it." Jeff's tone held a note of warning. "I also want to discuss it with Brains and Scott. So don't get your hopes up just yet. I'll make my decision by mid-week."

"Okay. Fair enough." Virgil, visibly buoyed in spirit, grinned. "Thanks, Dad!" He gave his father a sharp salute, and turned to hurry back into the house.

Jeff's smile returned. He closed his netbook, placing it carefully beside him on the hammock. Lacing his fingers together, he put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

xxxx

"So, where are we going, Coach?" The day had dawned bright and bitter cold. Alan could barely suppress his excitement, as he waited his turn to climb onto the blue and silver Wharton bus.

Coach Evans couldn't help but smile at Alan's enthusiasm. "To Great Barrington, Tracy. Little place to the south of us. We'll be playing the Barrington School today."

"Cool. I hope we do as well as the Whizzards did last night."

"Did they win again?" Coach's bushy eyebrows rose with surprise.

"Yeah." Alan nodded vigorously. "Wiped up the floor with their opponents, or so I heard." He hadn't heard it from Fermat; he hadn't seen his friend since classes on Friday. The news of the quiz team's latest win _was_ making the rounds, however; whether it had been embellished or exaggerated or not, Alan couldn't tell.

Evans chuckled, and raised his voice. "Figures that the only undefeated Wharton team so far this year isn't an athletic one. Maybe you all should try out for academic quiz next year!"

"No!" "Uh-uh!" "No way, Coach!" A chorus of denials sounded out behind Alan as he boarded the bus.

Alan found a seat near the center of the bus, and sat next to the window. The bus was a large, comfortable coach, with upholstered chairs lined up in pairs on both sides of the aisle. He fastened his seatbelt, then glanced up when Julio Estevez slid into the seat next to him. "Hey, Alan!"

"Hey, Julio."

"Great day, isn't it?"

Alan glanced out the tinted window, looking up at the clear sky. "Looks like it's gonna be a really good one."

As the bus pulled out, Julio settled down to play with his portable video game. He used a set of earbuds, so he wouldn't disturb those around him. Alan had his phone with him; it had games on it, and he could easily have done the same. Instead, he gazed out the window, watching the scenery go by.

He'd never really done this before, just enjoy the area for what it was. He was always looking forward, had somewhere to go, someone to meet, something else to think about besides where he was at the moment. Now, he took time to look, really look, at the area around his school.

Alan had seen mountains taller than the Berkshires, whose ridges, covered with trees both barren and green, surrounded them as they drove southward. Sometimes they were close, sometimes farther away, but always a looming presence. They passed a lake just outside of Pittsfield. Alan recognized it as one he, Scott, and Fermat had passed on their way to the mall... and the county prison. This time, he caught its name – Pontoosuc Lake – and wondered how to pronounce the word. He took out his phone, and snapped a picture of the lake, making sure he added the name as a note. _John will know how to pronounce it._

They turned off at one point, taking a shorter route through downtown Pittsfield. Alan kept his gaze focused outward, taking in the buildings, the houses, the businesses. Grand old buildings, made of granite blocks. Shiny new buildings of glass and steel. Elegant old houses of brick and clapboard. The all-too-familiar medical center. A theater that hosted a stage company. A train station. Just past what seemed to be a historical district, they picked up Route 7 again. Alan took pictures of the buildings he thought were interesting. For today, he was a tourist.

As they continued south, he was constantly surprised at how rural the area still was. How forested it was. How many sere fields ran along the highway. They crossed under Interstate 90, the great Massachusetts Turnpike, that bisected the state lengthwise, from Boston to the New York state border. They passed through the town of Stockbridge, and skirted Lenox. The Berkshires came close, retreated, came close again. There were glimpses of lakes, of ponds, and occasionally, a river winding its way between the ridges.

Finally, they passed through a wide gap between two ridges and reached Great Barrington. It was smaller than Pittsfield, and reminded him somewhat of the even smaller town in Kansas where his grandmother still lived. A small brick library with ornate concrete trim, centuries-old churches built of stone and brick, a post office, a small community college, and any number of small shops and offices were among the buildings that lined Route 7, which at this point, was called, predictably, "Main Street".

As they entered Great Barrington, Coach Evans cleared his throat loudly. The chatter that had been like white noise in the background stopped. He picked up the driver's microphone, and said, "Testing."

A low ripple of laughter greeted him. He grinned, then sobered a bit. "We're coming up on the Barrington School, men. From the time we roll onto their campus until the time we leave, I expect you to comport yourself like gentlemen and good sportsmen. You will not abuse their hospitality, their grounds, their buildings, their equipment, or their people, players and staff alike. Remember that you represent Wharton Academy."

There was a near-unison chorus of, "Yes, sir!"

Coach nodded, pleased. He sat back down, and the excited chatter returned. Julio stashed his game away, tucking it into the pocket of the seat before him, and grinned at Alan.

"You'd better leave your phone on the bus; it's the safest place. Not only will it be locked up the entire time we're here, but the driver stays with it." He shook his head. "A couple of the guys have lost phones or other electronics when they brought them along to the lockers."

"Thanks for the warning, Julio." Alan slid his phone into its case, and followed Julio's example.

They stopped in the left lane of the four-lane road, waiting for oncoming traffic to clear. When there was a big enough break, the bus made a wide turn into what seemed to be a side road. Alan caught a glimpse of a sign for "The Barrington School" on a stone wall as they entered a shady drive. It wasn't a long one, and when they passed through the over arching trees, Alan's eyes widened. He gasped, then breathlessly added, "It's a castle!"

"Yeah!" Julio said, grinning. "Isn't it cool?"

The castle was made of unpolished blocks of gray granite, closely fitted, and sported round turrets with bright red slate roofs. Alan hauled out his phone and took picture after picture with the built-in camera. "We were just talking about castles the other day! Wait until the guys see this!"

Due to a number of too small, arched gateways, the coach had to take a more roundabout route than straight through to the small gymnasium, giving Alan plenty of time to view the grounds. "Look at the walls! It's like they have fortifications built into the corners."

"I never noticed them before," Julio said, leaning over to peer out the window. "Wonder what they do with them."

"I dunno, but they're pretty cool." Alan snapped some more pictures. "It would be awesome to go to school here."

"Hey!" Julio lightly smacked Alan on the back of the head, spoiling the picture that the latter was trying to take. "Wharton's lots better than this! This place is tiny."

"I didn't say that this place was _better_," Alan replied, putting away his phone. "Wharton's awesome in its own way. Besides," he added, a thoughtful look on his face, "you'd get too used to the castle and it wouldn't be special anymore."

Pulling up to the gymnasium at last, the driver found a space meant for buses, and finally stopped. Without a word of instruction, the boys began to file out, starting at the rear. Alan was the last in his row to pull out into the aisle. There was no pushing or shoving, though he felt crowded until he stepped off into the crisp morning air. Zave and John Carter were unloading the luggage bins under the bus, laying out the gym bags for the players to reclaim. Alan found his, shouldered it, then straightened to look around. A frisson of excitement made him shiver. _My first away game! At a castle! This is gonna be so great! Maybe we'll have lunch in the castle and I can look it over then._

"Tracy!"

Coach's voice made him snap to, and he turned to see the old man beckoning him. "Yes, Coach?" he asked as he approached.

Evans waited until Alan was closer before speaking. "Alan, I want you to stick close to Lewis, Carter, or me when you're not competing. Because of recent events, there'll be a lot of interest in you. A lot of people will be taking pictures, especially during the afternoon meet. Security here is going to ride herd on the press and try to limit spectators to parents of the competitors, they can't be everywhere. If anyone starts asking you questions, just say 'No comment' and walk away. Don't engage them, no matter what they say." The coach gave Alan a questioning look. "Understand me, Alan?"

Alan nodded sharply. "Yes, sir. You, Zave or John. Refuse to answer questions."

Evans locked gazes with the boy for a moment later, then nodded. "Good man. Now head on up with the rest to the locker room." Calling to Carter, who had finished distributing the gym bags, he said, "Carter, he's all yours. No pictures, no interviews, no comment."

"Right, Coach." Carter shouldered his own bag. "Come with me, Tracy."

Alan shifted his bag to make it easier to carry. "Coming."

xxxx

"Ugh." Alan scowled, shaking his head and gasping for air. "I could have done way better than that."

"What do you mean, Pinky?" Zave asked as he handed a paper cup to Alan, who straightened up and drank it off. "You came in third. Jameson came in first. With that, we probably have the cross-country meet sewn up. Hold that thought." He stepped away to give Gatorade and encouragement to another Wharton runner, then returned to Alan. "Answer me, Pinky."

"I was distracted," Alan said as he walked around, stretching. "First away meet, new place... I was distracted for at least the first half. Every time I tried to focus, something new came into view and my focus went out the window." He made a face. "And something on that back stretch smelled... ugh!"

"I see." Zave nodded. "Shoulda warned you about the waste treatment plant. It's across the river from that back stretch." He hurried over to the last of the Wharton runners to come in. At this meet, there had been no injuries, so all the runners' scores would count. Once he had finished his task, he came back to Alan. "We'll talk about this later, Pinky. Get some more to drink, and get your stuff together."

Alan nodded and went off to follow instructions. He poured himself another drink, and started to gulp it down. As he did, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head just a little to see what it was... and his heart seized. His cup dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers, and he gasped.

"Alan?" Jameson, who was nearby, heard him and stepped closer. "What's wrong?"

By this time, Alan had turned to look more carefully, an expression of panic slowly fading into one of puzzlement. He glanced over at Jameson, and back to the bleachers, where a dozen or so people were sitting. "I thought..."

"What?"

Alan swallowed and got himself under control. "It... It was nothing." He shook his head and gave Jameson a weak smile. "I'm okay. It was nothing." He picked up his cup, crumpled it, and threw it into the trash container. "We'd better get our gear while the officials figure out who won this race."

xxxx

It turned out that Wharton won the cross-country meet. So, it was a chipper Alan who settled into one of the tall backed chairs that lined the long table in the dining room. He couldn't help but gawk at the pillars of beige marble, the ornate, recessed ceiling, and the wide floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the back terrace. Coach Evans sat at one end of the fine cherry wood table, of which there were several, giving the room a far more utilitarian look than it should have had. Only the teams were eating lunch at this point; the rest of the students would be served once the tables were cleared.

"Manners, men, manners," the coach growled as servers came with platters and bowls of food to be passed around. He took a portion from each for himself, and passed the dishes along to his right. "There'll be plenty to eat, but mind your manners."

Alan took what he felt was a fair share of each food, and passed the bowl or platter to his neighbor, John Carter. He hoped that Zave, sitting at the other end of the table, would get his fair share, too, then realized with relief that the servers had started a second set of food dishes at Zave's end. These went down the other side of the table.

"Hey, Alan, aren't you hungry?" Carter asked, just before cramming his mouth full of salad.

"Yeah, I am," Alan replied as he cut up his meat. "But I'm not stuffing myself. Can't have a stomach full of food when trying to jump."

"Carter! Manners!" Coach Evans called.

Carter swallowed what he had in his mouth, and washed it down with water, then gave the coach a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Coach."

Alan paid attention to his food, looking up only once in a while to see how his teammates were faring. Once, he glanced down the table, and saw Jameson talking earnestly to Xavion. Whatever he was hearing, Zave obviously didn't like it because his brows were lowered in a scowl. He looked down the table at Alan, who glanced away quickly.

Dessert and the end of the meal came sooner than Alan had expected. They were directed to leave their plates on the table, with the utensils lying across it, handles to the right. Alan was the last to leave the room, and he glanced back to see a worker picking up the knives, forks, and spoons, sorting them into cups on a cart, while another worker followed to deal with the plates and glasses. He could only see the top of the second worker's head, but the when first bent down to pick up a wayward utensil, Alan could see briefly the profile of the plate collector...

What he saw made him bolt through the glass doors to the terrace. He took a few hurried steps, then realized what he looked like and slowed to a walk. He couldn't keep from looking back again, though the reflections from the outside, including his own pale copy, made seeing inside impossible.

When he turned to look forward again, he found his way blocked by a glowering Xavion Lewis. "We've gotta talk, Alan," the team captain said as he swung his head in the direction of the terrace rail, where Coach Evans sat, gazing out over the deep reflecting pool. "Let's go."

Alan sighed, and allowed Zave to herd him over to the coach, who met Alan's downcast look with a quiet, "Sit over here, son." He patted the stone balustrade beside him, and Alan obediently took his place. "Now, I've heard a couple of things that concern me, and I've seen one more. I don't want to discuss the lack of focus during your cross-country today. I think you know what was going on there, and I hope you will work on itt for our next away meet. But Jameson here," Evans motioned to the boy who sat on the other side, "noticed something happen today that, quite frankly, freaked him out. Then I saw you come through those doors, pale and looking like a ghost was after you. So, tell me what it's all about, Alan."

Alan took in a deep breath and let it out in a long huff. He gazed at his hands for a moment, and just as Coach was about to prod him, he spoke. "When I was cooling down from the race, I caught a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye. It seemed familiar, and it was coming from the stands. I turned my head a little to see what it was, and I thought... I thought I saw Steve Ulrich sitting up there."

"Was he?" Coach asked, a concerned frown on his craggy face.

Alan shook his head. "No. He wasn't. Wasn't even anyone who looked like him. I just..." He swallowed and gave a half-hearted shrug. "I just imagined it."

There was another moment of quiet. Zave shooed away a couple of boys who had come over to see what was going on. This time, Coach did prod Alan. "And this time?"

"There were these two people clearing the table. One was picking up the forks and stuff, and the other was following behind, picking up the plates." Alan sucked in another deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. "I couldn't really see who was behind, though the hair looked sorta familiar. When the guy picking up the forks bent over, though, I could see the guy working with him. I could have sworn it was Sugi." He shook his head quickly, violently, and balled his hands up into tight fists. "But it couldn't have been. Sugi's in jail. He's. In. Jail." He pounded on his thighs as if to punctuate those last three words.

At this, Zave went back into the dining room and looked around. He saw the worker with the dark hair, noticing that he was of the same height and build as Lee Sugimoto, but was not even Asian. When he came back out, Coach was speaking to Alan again.

"Maybe it would be best if you didn't compete today." Zave heard as he got close.

Alan's eyes widened and his head shot up. "No, please, Coach. I can do this. I really can. It's my first away game; I just have some jitters, that's all."

"It's more than jitters, Alan." Coach was speaking softly and patiently. He glanced up at Zave. "Take our men down to the field so they can start warming up. Alan and I will be along in a few minutes."

The team captain nodded, and started rounding up the other players. A couple of them, Jameson among them, looked back as Zave herded them down towards the track.

"Again, Alan," Coach said. "This is more than jitters. It's indicating a deeper problem, one that, frankly, I'm not equipped to handle."

"Please, Coach. I can do this. I have to do this."

Evans shook his head. "If we're going to continue having incidents like these happening..."

"We won't." Alan straighted his shoulders and looked his coach in the eye. "I'm going to take care of it. My brother said I should see a counselor, talk this out with a professional." His gaze dropped a little. "I was planning to see Ms. Bell on Monday and ask who she'd recommend."

One of Coach's bushy eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Gordon told you this?"

Alan shook his head. "No, my second-oldest brother, John. He runs cross-country, too."

"Ah, I see." The coach rubbed his chin, and hummed a little. Finally, he put his hands on his thighs and rose from the balustrade. "Well, I'm glad you're going to seek out some professional help. That makes my decision a lot easier." He studied Alan, who still sat there, waiting. "I have to admit, you've fought a lot more demons than anyone else on this team, and you've worked hard to gain my respect." Nodding slightly, as if agreeing with his own decision, he said, "I'll give you a chance today. Just stay focused."

Jumping to his feet, Alan grinned widely, almost dancing around in his happiness. "I will, Coach. Promise! I will stay _focused_!"

"Okay. Let's get down to the track. The meet starts in 20 minutes and you have to warm up."

Together, Alan and Coach Evans jogged down to join the rest of the team.

xxxx

Alan rubbed his hands together and blew on them. The temperature, which had climbed as the sun rose higher, had dropped again. Gray clouds were scudding quickly across the sky, threatening to cluster up and bring some sort of precipitation. He took a short breath, let it out, and started his run. The moment he hit the jump board, he knew he'd done it cleanly. He let his limbs move instinctively into his landing position, reaching as far forward as possible with his feet and hands, hoping to increase the distance of the jump. His feet hit the cold sand, and his momentum took the rest of him forward so he landed on his hands. Pushing off, he straightened, and dusted off his hands while waiting for the distance to be measured.

"Another nice clean one, Alan!" Coach said, beaming, as the record keepers announced the jump's length.

"Yes!" Alan hissed, pumping both fists down before bounding from the pit and picking up the rake to smooth the sand again. All three of his long jumps had been clean, and each seemed to be a little longer than the one before. He knew this event was over for the day, but was waiting until he had the go ahead from the judges to go on to the high jump. In the meanwhile, he shook hands with his competitor.

"Good jumps," he said, offering his hand to Berkshire's jumper.

"You, too." The other teen's tone was amiable. "What's next for you? I'm doing the pole vault."

"I've got the high jump."

"Then I'll see you around."

Both boys turned as the judge approached. "The winner is Alan Tracy, from Wharton." He named the length of the winning jump, which was Alan's final one. "Sam's second jump was a Berkshire record." He shook hands with both boys, Alan first. "Congratulations to you both."

"Thanks!" Alan said cheerfully. He trotted off toward the high jump, turning around to wave at his opponent. "See you again sometime, Sam!"

Sam waved back as he headed for the pole vault.

When he got to the high jump, there were two people waiting for him: a player from the other team in uniform, and an older man in street clothes. "You Alan Tracy?" the man asked, sounding indifferent.

Something about him made Alan wary. His first thought was that this was a parent or other teacher recruited to be an official. But a niggling little voice reminded him of what Coach Evans had told him earlier about the press. _It's not going to hurt to tell him who I am. Once I do, then I'll know where I stand with him._

"Yeah. I'm Alan Tracy." His eyes flicked from the man to Barrington's player. He could see that the player was mildly interested in the byplay, which really told him nothing about the man's intentions. "Who are you? Are you officiating today?"

The man smiled and shook his head. "Well, no, Alan, I'm not. My name is Matt Abrams; I'm with _The Berkshire Record_..."

Abrams got no further than that before Alan scowled and said, "I have no comment." He turned and looked around for the coach, Carter or Xavion. He saw Zave helping out at the shot put circle, and started toward him.

"I just want to ask a few questions, that's all." Abrams hurried forward and intercepted Alan, careful not to put a hand on the boy. He smiled, trying to look both sympathetic and ingratiating at the same time. "I'm sure you've had a hard time with all the police questioning and the publicity, but now that you're a public figure..."

Alan's scowl intensified. "My _father_ is a public figure" he said in brusque, clipped tones. "_I _am not. I have _no _comment." He waved an arm; he had spotted his coach. "Coach Evans!"

"Okay, I get that you're not a public figure, but you've been involved in a recent, high-profile legal case. High-profile, I might add, because it involved you. Don't you want the public to hear your side of the story?"

Coach Evans saw Alan waving, and the man confronting him. He realized what was happening, but he was in a position where he couldn't get away. He shouted over to Xavion, and pointed in Alan's direction. "Lewis! Go give Tracy a hand!"

Zave looked up when his name was called, and glanced over toward Alan. "Got it, Coach!" He excused himself from the shot put venue, saying he would be right back, and made his determined way to Alan's aid.

Alan, in the meantime, had been trying to dodge Abrams, so he could meet Zave halfway. But Abrams was nothing if not persistent. He moved to block Alan every time. "Alan, please. Just a few questions and I'll get out of the way."

"You'll get out of the way _now_." Zave pulled up behind the reporter, his deep voice sounding as menacing as his scowl and folded arms looked. "You okay, Alan?" Alan nodded, not willing to say anything that the reporter could use. Zave motioned with his head in the general direction of the high jump. "They're waiting for you. Better get over there, while I find some security to deal with this guy."

"I have a right to be here," Abrams asserted, pivoting around to confront an impassive, impressive Xavion. Relieved, Alan turned and hurried back to where the player, now joined by two others, one in official Barrington uniform, pointed toward him.

"You might have a right to be here, but not to question a minor." Coach Evans had finally been able to break loose of his obligation. "Lewis, go find security."

"Right." Zave sprinted off toward the bleachers, where a few dozen people were gathered, watching the meet.

"Your name?" Coach Evan's tone was steely.

The reporter folded his arms defiantly. "I have no comment."

Sharp brown eyes flicked over to where Alan stood, waiting for his competitor to make the first jump. "Doesn't matter. I'm sure Alan will know it, or the police will get it out of you."

"The police can't do anything. This is a public event." Abrams's tone was smug.

"Oh, it's not the police you should worry about anyway." There was a hint of humor in the coach's voice as he saw Zave returning with a Barrington School security guard. "I'd worry more about the boy's father, if I were you. Once Jeff Tracy finds out you've been harassing his son...he's an _extremely_ protective father..." He trailed off, shaking his grizzled head, as Abrams paled a little. Once Zave was in earshot, he told the team captain, "Go see that Alan's okay."

"Yes, Coach." Zave changed direction and headed for the high jump, while the security guard made his way over to the coach.

"What do we have here? Abrams, again?" The security guard, whose name tag read, "Millard", took hold of Abrams's arm. "Thought you learned your lesson last time." To Coach Evans, he said, "I'll take it from here, sir. If you'd have the young man he was speaking to see me after the meet, I'd be obliged."

"Of course. I'll have Alan talk with you as soon as we're done here."

Alan looked up as Zave approached. The Barrington jumper had finished his first jump, and the judges were in a quiet argument over whether or not he'd hit the bar.

"Gotta make this quick, Alan," Zave said, glancing back to the starting line. "Coach wants to know if you're okay."

Alan nodded. "I'm fine, Zave." His eyes followed the security guard, who was escorting the reporter off the field. "Now that he's gone, I can focus properly."

"Okay. If there's any more trouble, you know what to do." Zave began to trot backwards, waiting for Alan's last word.

"Right. No problem."

With that, Zave turned around and sprinted for the starting line on the other side of the track. Alan turned as one of the judges asked, "Are you ready, Alan?"

"Yes, I am."

He backed up until he felt he was far enough away, focused all of his thought on the bar. With a small skip, he began his approach, and leapt skyward.

_

* * *

Will Jason ever come up with a snappy comeback of his own? Will Brains get the camera and its accompanying launch bays completed? Will Virgil be able to travel with John? Will Abrams give Alan any trouble? How did Alan do on the high jump? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	72. Unreliable Schedule

_Author's note: _The track meet's aftermath. A long-distance meeting of the minds. John's arrival and his surprise. Thanks to Lillihafrue and Susanmartha for for betareading. .

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

"So, did you make it?" A.J. slurped up more milkshake through a straw as he waited for Alan's answer. Fermat and Qaeshon looked toward Alan, too, from their seats in the snack shop.

"Yep." Alan nodded once. "I had two clean jumps, then they raised the bar for the third jump, and I hit it. Barely felt it, but I knew I had. I took a second try at it, and went over cleanly. My opponent hit the bar once every time, and couldn't clear the tallest height." He shook his head. "I need to keep working at it, though. What I'm doing is nothing compared to what the pros can do."

"Y-You want to c-compete for the O-Olympics?" Fermat asked, sounding surprised.

Alan shrugged. "Maybe. Depends on if I can improve enough." He shifted in his chair, and sucked on his drinking straw. "But, man, you should have seen this castle!"

The rest of the group groaned. "Alan, you showed us the pictures... more than once," Jason said, crumpling up his chip bag. "Now let's get down to business and do what we're here for."

"What's that?" Fermat asked, glancing around at the others. "I d-didn't know we had an a-agenda tonight."

"That's because you were off creaming the competition," Qaeshon said, grinning. "I still can't believe the score. The Quizzing Whizzards rock!"

Fermat blushed a little, and took another long pull on his straw. When he'd swallowed his mouthful of milk shake, he asked, "So, wh-what are we supposed to be d-doing?"

"Helping poor Jase come up with some smart comments to combat Sable's teasing," Kay said, giving the redhead a sly look.

"Ah, I s-see." Fermat nodded sagely. "J-Just don't a-ask me. I wouldn't know wh-what to say either." He glanced over at Alan. "M-Maybe you should ask S-Scott or G-Gordon. Of all your b-brothers, they're most likely to have some g-good answers."

"Hm." Alan glanced at his watch and tried to do the time zones in his head. "It's about lunch time, tomorrow, back home. I think I can give one of them a call. Which one?"

"S-Scott," Fermat replied promptly. "He's the one who had a d-d-d... rendezvous with her."

"I remember that," Kay said, nodding.

"So, call him already!" Jason said, sitting up and reaching for Alan's phone. Alan grabbed it before Jason could, and speed-dialed his brother.

Scott's phone rang while the Tracys were finishing lunch. He took it from his pocket, and looked at the screen. "Hey! It's Alan!"

"Alan!" Jeff grinned. "Answer it, Scott."

"Hey, Sp...uh, Alan." Scott hastily amended, catching his father's developing glare out of the corner of one eye. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good, Scott, pretty good. I won both of my events during field and came in third on the cross-country." Alan grimaced a little; the knowledge that he hadn't been properly focused still rankled. "We're down in the snack shop, taking a break."

"And we're finishing up lunch, so I'm gonna put you on speaker phone. Just a sec." At a word from Jeff, Kyrano had brought out the docking device and put it in the middle of the table. "There. Can you hear us now?"

"Yeah! Is everybody there?" Alan racked up the volume on his phone, and put it in the center of the table. "I'm putting my phone down so everyone can hear." The boys crowded around with a minimum of shoving.

"Hello, boys!" Jeff said, his words echoed by the others around the table. An excited Tin-Tin bounded in, and leaned in between Gordon and Alan.

"Hey, guys!"

"Hey, everyone! Hi, Tin-Tin." Alan was, so far, the only speaker. "Pretty much all of the gang's here on this end. Jason, Kay, A.J., Fermat, and me."

"H-Hello, son," Brains said, smiling. "H-How are you?"

Fermat perked up at the sound of his father's voice. "I'm f-f-f... great, Dad. We w-won again last night!"

"C-Congratulations, my boy! Your team is doing a-awesome!" The congratulations were echoed by the rest of the Tracys, especially by Gordon, who whooped loudly with a, "Go Whizzards!"

The Wharton contingent laughed at this, then Alan quieted them. "This isn't just a checking-in-with-you social call, Scott. I need some advice. I'm glad you put me on speaker phone, though. More great minds and all that."

"What kind of advice do you need, son?" Jeff asked between sips of iced tea.

"Well, it's not really me who needs the advice, it's Jason." Alan nudged Jason with a well-placed elbow. "Go on, tell them."

Jason, whose face had gone red again, cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Hi, Mr. Tracy."

Jeff's tone was one of slight amusement. "Hello, Jason. How can we help?"

"Well, there's this... this girl, I guess, who works in the kitchen... at the dishwasher. She's really Goth and..."

Scott interrupted. "Is it Sable?"

"Uh, yeah." Jason swallowed heavily. "Sable. Well, she has names for us all; I'm Red,; Kay is Dreads; Alan is Blondie; Fermat is Specs..."

Jeff's tone was mild as he, too, interrupted. "I think we get the point, Jason. Very colorful names."

Alan rolled his eyes, and motioned for Jason to get to the point. Jason gave him an irritated look and plunged on. "Yes, sir. Very colorful. The problem is that she kinda singles me out for extra... teasing, I suppose you can call it. "

"How so?" Scott asked. Alan couldn't decide from his tone if Scott were annoyed or not.

"She, uh, asks me embarrassing questions. So far, she keeps asking me, 'How's it hanging?' whenever I see her in the tray line. I figure she's referring to my, um, 'package'." With this last, strangled pronouncement, Jason sat back, looking totally miserable.

Alan jumped in. "It always knocks him for a loop, Dad. He gets really red and his face has this deer-caught-in-headlights look."

Kay added, "He doesn't have any snappy comebacks, and he needs some."

"Is that why you called?" Jeff asked. "To get some snappy comebacks from us?"

"Well, from Scott and Gordon in particular," Alan admitted. "I didn't figure you'd all still be at lunch."

"Ooh." Gordon sounded particularly gleeful. "Snappy comebacks are my specialty!"

"So, whattaya got?" Alan asked, winking at Jason who sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fermat's got a file open."

"F-Fermat doesn't n-need to hear this," Brains said firmly. "G-Go take a walk, son."

"Aw, D-Dad!" Fermat whined. Kay whispered in his ear; his eyes widened and he grinned. "Oh, o-okay. I'll g-g-go." His voice had a particular pouting sound to it, one that made Alan wonder what he was up to. He watched as Fermat slid out of his seat and walked away stopping at the end of the aisle.

"Is he g-gone?" Brains asked.

"Yeah, Brains. He's gone." Alan was glad that they hadn't put on the video portion of the call, just the audio; as soon as he had answered Brains's question, Fermat made a circuit of the snack shop and came quietly back to sit down where he had been. "So, you've had a few minutes to think. Whattaya got?"

"Hm." There was a long pause on the other end, and Alan couldn't tell who had made the noise.

Virgil was first to speak up. "Well, if you take the saying literally, and don't assume she's talking about your 'package', you could say something like, 'Framed and on the wall like the Mona Lisa'."

"Oh, gag!" Gordon's voice cut in. "Do you know how that sounds if she _is_ talking about what he thinks she's talking about?" He continued. "I have a better one: 'Low and loose and full of juice'."

The boys in the snack shop were snickering, trying to keep from bursting out into full-fledged laughter, with the exception of Jason, who sat rigid and red-faced, his eyes wide.

"Gordon, that's just gross." Virgil sounded sour and snarky. "I think 'They aren't; I just went swimming,' is better than _that_."

"I think he c-could use this l-line: 'C-Come for a w-walk with me and find out y-yourself'." Fermat's eyes went wide with shock at hearing his father's contribution. He clapped both hands over mouth to keep his father from hearing his gasp.

"That sounds more like a pick-up line than a snappy comeback, Brains," Scott said.

"D-Do you have something b-better, Scott?" The boys could almost hear the ice in Brains's tone.

"Yeah, I think so. 'A little to the right... or left' as the case may be."

"Scott, he's used that one twice before." Alan patted Jason's shoulder. "It was great the first time, but not the second."

The elder Tracys chuckled, and Jeff piped up. "If you go with Virgil's idea, and assume it's not about Jason's... ahem... physical endowments, he could use something my dad once told me."

"Grandpa? Way cool!" Alan gave Jason a thumbs up and a bright nod. Jason leaned forward, cautious hope on his face. "What did he say?"

"He said... now let me get this right." Jeff paused for a moment, more for effect than anything else. "Right. He said, 'Like a horse thief spinning in the wind'."

There was silence on both ends. Finally, Alan remarked, "Uh, is that it, Dad?"

"Hey! That's a good line!" Jeff protested. He paused, then with a wry tone, added, "He could always use the one we used in the Air Force."

"Dare I ask?" Alan could visualize Gordon's smug face, one eyebrow raised, mouth curved in a devilish grin.

"Go ahead. Ask." There were times that Jeff knew how to set up a joke, and Alan realized this was one of them.

"Okay, Dad. What line did you use in the Air Force?"

Jeff sighed. "I really don't think it's appropriate for Jason to use, and there's a lady present..."

"Oh, Mr. Tracy, please tell us. I'm dying of curiosity." Tin-Tin had put on her most wheedling, feminine tone. "I'm sure it can't be _that_ bad."

Jeff paused again; he thought he'd seen Onaha out of the corner of one eye. Looking toward the kitchen, he saw that she wasn't there, then muttered quickly, "'It's a'hangin' and a'bangin'."

Again, there was silence on both ends for a moment, then both groups burst out into hoots of laughter. Everyone, that is, but Jason, whose jaw dropped and eyes widened as he sputtered, "But... but..."

Taking pity on him, Alan worked to get his friends calmed down. "Okay, everyone. I think we have enough snappy comebacks for now. Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Virge, Scott, yeah, and you too, Gordon. Oh, and you, Brains. Thanks for that pick... uh, I mean, idea."

"Yeah, thanks everyone," Kay said. "We'll make sure Jase uses some of these, starting Monday."

Alan gave Jason a nudge. The redhead swallowed heavily, and in a shaky voice he said, "Uh, yeah. Thanks, guys. I appreciate the help."

"Anytime, Jason, anytime." Jeff sounded almost as relieved as Jason did.

"I need to talk to Scott privately for a minute," Alan said. "I'll talk to the rest of you soon! Have a great afternoon!"

"Goodnight, Alan!" "Have a good one, son." "Talk to you later, bro!" "G-Goodnight, F-Fermat!"

Fermat instinctively replied, "You, too, D-Dad." Then, realizing what he'd done, he made a face, and knocked on his head several times with his fist.

Brains chuckled. "I knew you w-were there. We'll t-talk about this later."

There was an audible click, and Alan retrieved his phone from the table. "Hey, Scott. I have a message for you from Sable."

"Oh really? What is it?"

"Well, she asked after you today, and told me to tell you that she owes you dinner next time you're out this way."

"Hm. I'll have to take her up on that sometime. Just not this weekend."

Alan leaned back, lifting the front legs of his chair off the floor. "Oh? Is John coming out? He said he was going to try and convince Dad."

"Well, yeah, Dad's bringing him home for the weekend and he'll be out to visit you." Scott sounded rather smug, which made Alan think he knew of John's planned surprise.

"What's he bringing with him? He said he was going to have a surprise for me if he came."

Scott grinned. "Well, he's got a surprise. But I'm not telling you. The guy deserves to have some fun from time to time."

"Aw, c'mon Scott! Tell me!"

"Sorry, Sp... bro. No can do. You have a good night, and I'll talk to you again soon. Tell Sable that she's got a deal."

Alan sighed dramatically. "All right. I'll tell her. Talk to you later, Scott."

"Have a good night, Alan. Goodbye."

The call cut off at Scott's end, and Alan severed the connection as well. That's when Jason grabbed him by the shirt, his eyes wild.

"Alan, I can't use any of those lines! They're too... too provocative! She'll just escalate things until I die of embarrassment!"

"Dude, no one ever died of embarrassment," Kay said, rolling his eyes. "Just use a couple. She may get bored of it."

"You don't know that! I'm sure there were people who were so embarrassed that they offed themselves!" Jason's tone turned pleading. "I just can't use those!"

"Then why don't you simply ask her to stop teasing you?" A.J. said. "I'm sure she would if you asked."

There was a sudden quiet at the table as all eyes turned to A.J. Then Alan chuckled.

"Leave it to A.J. to come up with the sensible answer."

"But... that would be admitting that I can't take it." Jason looked from one of his friends to the others. "I would be admitting to being a wuss."

"As far as this is c-concerned, Jase, you _are_ a wuss." Fermat didn't glance up from his laptop. "There. I've sent you each a c-c-copy of the c-comebacks we got."

"I really liked that Air Force one." Kay snickered as he poked around his open, empty cup with a straw. "Your dad is a great guy."

Alan smiled, his expression both proud and far away. "Yeah. He is. He really is."

xxxx

A light, musical tone sounded, signaling that the medical center's door had opened. Sandy glanced up from behind the desk. "Alan! What brings you here? Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah." Alan smiled as he rested his backpack on one of the chairs in the waiting room. "I'm okay, really. I just need to talk to Ms. Bell, if she has a minute."

"Sure. I'll call her to the front." Sandy put words into action, and it wasn't long before Ms. Bell put in an appearance.

"Why, hello there, Alan. I haven't seen you for a while. Are you all right?"

"Hey, Ms. Bell." Alan sketched a small wave. "I'm okay. Keeping busy and healthy."

"Healthy, huh?" She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Shouldn't you be at lunch?"

"Yeah, I'm going there after I talk to you. I thought it would be better to stop by now instead of between classes and practice."

"Ah, I see." Marilee opened the door separating the waiting room with the treatment areas. "Come on back and we'll see what we can do for you." To Sandy, she said, "Pull up Alan's chart, please, and load it to my computer."

"Yes, ma'am."

Alan shouldered his backpack again, but passed through the door, he frowned a bit. "Really, I'm not sick. I just need to ask you something. Something kind of... personal."

"Well, you can ask me in the examining room," Marilee insisted. "I want to get a look at your face in any case."

They entered the small examination room, and Marilee patted the paper-covered bed. "Take off your jacket and hop up here, please, Alan. I won't make you change to a gown or anything."

He did as he was told, and hoisted himself onto the end of the sloping, padded table, legs dangling off the edge. She brought over a magnifying glass on a stand, just like the one Alan's cosmetic surgeon, Dr. Phillips, had used on his initial evaluation. He closed his eyes as she turned on the light and firmly took his chin in her hand, making his head twist to one side.

"Mm. yes, this is healing up nicely. What did the surgeon have to say?"

Alan found it difficult to speak with her hand gripping his chin. "M s'pposed t' 'af surg'ry o'er th' s'mmer bre'k."

She chuckled, and turned off the light, letting go of his chin. "That's a wise move. Don't want to spend Christmas vacation all bandaged up." Wheeling the light away, she washed her hands, drying them with a paper towel as she leaned up against the small sink. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

He moistened his lips with his tongue, and took a deep breath before speaking. "You probably heard that Lee Sugimoto was sentenced last week."

Marilee nodded. "I did. I think he got off a little too easy in your case, but at least he's in jail now."

"Yeah." Alan shifted his gaze away from her, settling it, unfocused, on the door to the hallway. "I had some... um... trouble this past weekend, at the away track meet. Thought I was seeing Steve Ulrich and Lee when they weren't there. My brother, John, suggested I see a counselor, and that you might have the names of some who would come to the school and talk with me."

Halfway through his explanation, Marilee picked up her laptop, and used her stylus to bring up a page. "You have a wise brother, Alan. You've been through a lot of trauma: physical, mental, and emotional. I'm not surprised that you're having some trouble coping." She paused, then added, "There. I've sent the list of counselors who are willing to come here to the printer. Sandy will put it in an envelope for you to pick up at the desk." She glanced over at him, and gave him a small smile. "If you like, I can make the appointment for you, but you're the one who will have to get your local doctor to release the medical records concerning the attack."

"Okay. I can do that." Alan paused, his brows drawn together in a small frown. "Could you send a copy of the list to my dad? He's probably going to want to have them checked out; see if they're okay. Security and all that jazz, y'know."

"Sure, Alan. I'll do that. Then your father can make the appointment for you and deal with the records." Marilee used her stylus again. "There. It's attached to a form letter, but I'll follow up with a more personal note later today." She gave him a searching look, stylus poised over the laptop screen. "Is there anything else you need today?"

Alan shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I better get some lunch, though; I'm really hungry." As if to verify his statement, his stomach growled audibly.

Marilee laughed. "Then you're free to go. Don't forget the list as you leave."

He hopped down from the table, shrugged himself into his jacket again, and shouldered his pack. With a cheery, "Thanks, Ms. Bell," he left, stopping only long enough to pick up the envelope from Sandy. Once outside, he broke into a run, heading for the dining hall.

xxxx

"Psst. Alan."

The whisper was barely audible, and Alan answered in kind. "What, Fermat?"

Fermat jerked his head toward one side of the classroom. "Look out the w-window. It's snowing."

It was Friday, and Dr. Cambioso's class was the last one for the day. Alan had been on tenterhooks all week. John had emailed on Tuesday, confirming his weekend visit, and his arrival time. Now, as he glanced out the classroom window,and saw the swirling snowflakes, Alan's heart sank. _Please, please, don't let the weather hold him up!_

The rest of the class hour seemed to drag. Alan tried to focus, but his mind wasn't on his lesson. Nor was anyone else's, it seemed; the other students were as distracted as he was by the snow. So much so that Dr. Cambioso lowered the blinds to remove the temptation.

The rest of class moved with infinite slowness, or so it seemed. Alan caught himself jiggling his leg up and down more than once, and tried to calm himself. Finally, when he had despaired of class ever ending, the bell rang. "C'mon, Fermat, hurry. He might be here already."

"Señor Tracy."

Dr. Cambioso's call stopped Alan in his tracks. _What did I do now?_

But the Spanish teacher just smiled and added, "You have someone waiting for you at the administration building."

"Yes!" Alan hissed. He put his book bag together as quickly as he could, and donned his jacket. "Muchas gracias, Señor."

The teacher waved a hand and replied, "De nada."

"C'mon, Fermat!" Alan called as they entered the crowded hallway. "John's here!"

"I'm c-coming!" Fermat was having trouble putting his jacket on while balancing book bag and laptop. Alan stopped, returned to his friend's side, and held on to the backpack while Fermat shrugged into his coat, zipped it up, put on his hat and gloves, and finally took possession of his bags. "Now I'm r-ready."

"Good! C'mon!" Alan all but dove into the stairwell, pushing past other students as he hurtled toward the outer doors. Fermat shook his head, and followed at a slower pace.

He found Alan waiting for him outside, bouncing on the balls of his feet in impatience. "You g-go ahead, Alan. I'm slowing you d-down."

Alan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Fermat. I didn't mean to rush you. I'm so excited; John has _never_ been to see me at school. He's always been... busy." The two of them fell into step, walking at a brisker pace than Fermat would have liked, but not running. "Just think, he can watch you compete tonight, and watch me tomorrow." He glanced up and around, his brow furrowing with worry. "That is, if the snow doesn't keep us from competing."

"Hm. I don't know wh-what would happen if we got sn-snowed in," Fermat said, his tone thoughtful. "I n-never asked."

"Well, for once, I hope it doesn't stick around long."

They climbed the steps to the Administration building, their shoes splashing in half-melted slush. Alan pulled open the door with a heave that made it slam against the stopper, and made him utter a sheepish, "Oops." They stepped inside, carefully wiping their feet on the dark blue mats with the Wharton crest that sat inside the door.

"Alan!"

Alan's eyes lit up, and he hollered, "John!"

John took a step toward his little brother, and the two of them came together in a back thumping hug. "It's so good to see you, kiddo!"

"It's great to see you, too! I was hoping the weather wouldn't keep you from coming."

"Weather? You call _this_ weather? Hah!"

The voice was different, and came from somewhere behind John. "Virge? You're here, too?" Alan glanced at John. "Is he your big surprise?"

Before John could reply, a grinning Virgil rose from a chair at one side of the lobby, where he'd been hiding himself behind a magazine. He sauntered over, but before he could get all the way to where his brothers were standing, Alan had hurried to meet him and give him the same back-thumping hug he'd given John. Virgil returned the favor, and when they parted, reached up to ruffle Alan's hair.

"Hey, not the hair!" The complaint was one of loud mock annoyance, and it brought Ms. Belvedere's secretary to the lobby.

"Mr. Tracy!"

The three young men looked her way and answered, in near unison, "Yes, ma'am?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, and remarked wearily, "We are still working here, gentlemen, so please keep the noise level down."

Alan was about to answer her when another voice called out, "Don't you worry, dear. I'll make sure they quiet down so you can work."

The secretary's gave the speaker a weary smile. "Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate your help."

By this time, Alan's eyes were wide as saucers, and he called out in a much lower tone, "Grandma?"

"Yes, Alan. It's me." Patricia Tracy, a tiny, plump woman with short, wavy silver hair, was sitting in a chair with her back to John, and when Alan reached her, she rose to embrace him. It was a long, lingering embrace and he fought back tears as he hugged her tight.

"Goodness, Alan, you've grown so." Her eyes were moist when he let her go, and she put a hand to his face, smoothing it over his unblemished cheek. "Getting so tall and handsome, just like your grandfather."

Alan glanced over at John, who was grinning from ear to ear, then back to his grandmother. "Are you John's special surprise?"

"Why, of course I am!" She smiled up at him, blue eyes twinkling behind the bifocals. "Your brother thought it would be a good idea for me to see you compete, and I agreed. And, just look, I get to spend time with three of my grandsons at once, and young Fermat here, too. Come over here, young man, so I can give you a hug."

Fermat, who had already been greeted by John, and was on his way to say hello to Virgil, changed direction, and came over to Patricia. "H-Hello, M-M-Mrs. Tracy."

"It's good to see you, Fermat. You've grown quite a bit, too, since I last saw you," she said, opening her arms. He stepped into them gingerly, giving her an awkward embrace. "Now, none of that 'Mrs. Tracy' business, do you hear? You are family, so I expect you to call me 'Grandma', just like my hooligan grandsons do."

"Hooligans?" Virgil protested. "Why we're angels, Grandma. Perfect angels."

She shook a finger at him. "I know better, Virgil Tracy. Now, let's move along so these good people can work in peace. Alan, I would like to see your room, and meet some of your friends, if that's possible."

"Yeah, sure, Grandma. I told Coach I had family arriving today, so he told me I could be late to practice." He glanced out the door. "I don't know if we'll be having practice outside anyway with the snow and all."

"I'd have thought he'd let you skip it entirely," Virgil said as they headed for the doors. "I mean, you did for Gordon and Scott, didn't you?"

Alan shook his head. "Nope. Scott came out to see the practice... though he was a little more interested in Sable de la Croix than he was in me. Gordon and Brains showed up too late, though they weren't too late for Fermat's quizzing meet."

"Oh, I hear that's tonight." John opened the door and let the rest of the family walk through. "I also heard that the quiz team is undefeated." He ruffled Fermat's hair as the boy passed by. "Gonna win tonight, too, you think?"

Fermat shrugged. "We'll d-do our b-best."

"And their best is awesome!" Alan gushed.

Grandma had taken Virgil's arm, and he walked her down the slushy steps. "Now, Alan," she said as her youngest grandson fell into step on her other side. "I want to know about this Sable girl. I have had only a few details from Scott, and it was like pulling teeth to get those."

"Uh, yeah. Sable."

As Alan tried to explain, John matched Fermat's stride, taking the boy's laptop bag and slinging it over his own shoulder. "Fermat, is your roommate Andrew going to be around?"

"I d-don't know, John." Fermat shook his head. "Last weekend, his father was in G-Geneva, so he had to stay here, but he hasn't told me if his d-dad is coming up to g-get him this weekend."

"I hope he is. I brought along an autographed set of my books for him, since he's such a big fan. If he's not here, can I leave them with you?"

"S-Sure."

They walked back toward the parking lot, where a luxurious SUV awaited them. "I wanted to hire a limo and driver," Virgil said, sighing. "But Grandma said, 'No'."

"Your father might think that having a limo and driver at his beck and call is appropriate, but I think it's flashy and excessive. I raised you boys to appreciate what you have, no matter how humble, and I'm not going to let you flaunt your father's wealth when I'm around." She paused, her lips pursed in disapproval. "We didn't even need something this extravagant, except for the fact that it's four-wheel drive and with the weather like this..." Grandma trailed off as Virgil opened the SUV door for her and handed her inside.

"I figured we might need the space, too," John said as he slid behind the wheel. "I heard about that little dinner party Gordon paid for. We could easily fit a few of your friends in here, and go out for pizza or something." He started the engine once everyone was buckled up. "So, where to first? Alan? Your dorm or Fermat's?"

"Mine," said Alan, sounding a little gloomy. "I can't miss all of practice."

However, when they pulled up in front of Birchwood, Alan was greeted by a strangely happy Xavion.

"Hey, Pinky! Coach canceled practice for today. Seems Mr. Beccara wants the gym for the soccer team since the field is covered, and we can't all practice in there at the same time." He glanced at the people who were getting out of the vehicle. "Let me guess: two more of your brothers and..."

"I'm Patricia Tracy, Alan's grandmother." Grandma held out her hand, and when Zave took it, shook his firmly. "These are Alan's older brothers, John and Virgil."

Zave smiled. "I'm Xavion Lewis, ma'am. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He shook hands with John and Virgil. "I've seen pictures of you two, but not of this nice lady here."

"I take it you are a friend of Alan's?" Grandma asked as she followed Alan and Fermat up the steps to Birchwood.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm also the captain of the track team where Alan's being a big help in the field events."

"Ah, I see." She stopped to wipe her feet as she entered Birchwood's lobby. "Now, what was this name you called him... Pinky, was it?"

Zave's smile turned into a wide grin, while Alan rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yes, ma'am. You see, Fermat here," he turned to indicate the younger boy, "is so smart, we call him the Brain. And if he's the Brain, then Alan here has to be Pinky."

"I don't quite understand," Patricia said with a frown.

"A cartoon, Grandma. It was a cartoon," Virgil hastened to explain. "Two laboratory mice that have been experimented on. One is really smart, and the other is... well, kinda loopy."

"'Insane' is the word the show uses." John sounded very matter-of-fact, but he had a sly smile on his face.

"And e-every night, they t-try to take over the w-w-w... planet." Fermat's tone was mirthful and eager.

"So, you're trying to say that you believe that Alan is insane?" Grandma asked, her voice honey-sweet.

"Oh, no, ma'am. Nothing like that!" Alan was amused to see Zave backpedal, trying to soften the impression that Patricia had perceived. "He's just a little... crazy." He added quickly, "Sometimes."

Finally, Alan jumped in. "Grandma, it's okay. It's just a nickname, and one I've gotten used to. I let my friends like Zave here use it because they are my friends." He gave a non-committal shrug. "Besides, Fermat is definitely the Brain, and what's the Brain without his old pal, Pinky?" He put a hand up to his door's scanner, and the door slid open, revealing Dom and Qaeshon, hovering over Dom's computer.

"Hey, Dom. Hi, Kay." He stepped inside, ushering his grandmother in. "Grandma, this is Dominic Bertoli, my roommate, and Qaeshon Lewis. He's Xavion's brother, and we call him 'Kay'. Dom, Kay, my Grandma Tracy, and my older brothers, John and Virgil." While the visitors shook hands with the denizens, Alan took off his backpack and jacket. "So, what are you two doing?"

"Checking out some of our first proof pages." Dom shook his head. "The yearbook office computer crashed today. We have everything on back up media, and we're hoping we haven't lost the hard drive, but we have to make some decisions this weekend, and our computer is low on the totem pole for repairs."

"You're working on the yearbook?" Grandma asked. "That takes me back." She turned to the assembled young men. "I was yearbook photographer for two years in high school, and one year in college. I learned so much."

"You were a photographer, Grandma?" Virgil sounded intrigued. "I never knew that."

"Oh, yes. I enjoyed it very much. Of course, back then they didn't have digital cameras. Just good old 35 mm film, and a darkroom."

"We still use that sometimes, Mrs. Tracy," Dominic said. "Wharton used to offer a course in photography and the darkrooms are still usable. We can't use them often, though. Darkroom stuff is kinda expensive these days."

"I'm sure it is." Grandma looked at her watch. "I think we should take Fermat to his room so he can prepare for his quiz meet. It was nice to meet you both. I hope my grandson hasn't been an obnoxious roommate, Dominic."

Dom grinned and shook his head. "Nah. Alan's okay. He's a big improvement on my last roommate."

"I'm glad to hear it." With a nod to both Dom and Kay, she said, "Boys, let's get a move on."

The snow was coming down harder when they stepped out of Birchwood. Fermat gazed around, getting snowflakes on his glasses. "Wow. This looks l-like it's g-gonna st-st-st... remain."

Alan sighed. "Yeah. I wonder if we'll have to go to Worcester to compete tomorrow."

"I thought you had a home game," John said as he started up the SUV.

"We do. But in the case of snow, if the roads are okay to drive on, we have to get up early and go out to Worcester... wherever that is."

"If that's the case, then we'll just have to drive out there with you," Grandma declared firmly. "I came all the way from Kansas to see my grandson compete, and I will."

Alan grinned. "Thanks, Grandma."

When they arrived at Fermat's room, they found A.J. lying on his bed, reading. He climbed down quickly when he saw who was with Fermat.

Fermat made the introductions. "Andrew, this is A-Alan's brother, Virgil, his g-grandmother, Mrs. Tracy, and I th-think you know who this is."

"Yeah, I do." A.J. shook hands with Virgil and Grandma, but his wide eyes were fixed on John the entire time. "Wow. It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Tracy," he said as he shook John's hand.

"Hey, I told you before, A.J. You can call me John." John's smile was warm and genuine. "Have you had any opportunity to do some stargazing?"

"What's with him?" Virgil whispered to Alan.

Alan grinned as he whispered back, "He's a fan of John's."

Virgil's mouth formed a silent, "Oh," and he nodded in understanding.

A.J. was still talking. "A couple of weeks ago, yeah, when I was home. Won't be able to this weekend, though; my dad caught a bad cold when he was overseas last week and he doesn't want me to catch it. So I'm not going home, where my telescope is."

"I have something down in the car for you," John began, but he was forestalled by a buzz from the door. Fermat crossed to open it.

"Ah, there you are, Fermat." Devdan Israni stood outside. He looked in, saw the number of people standing or sitting, and gave a little wave. "Hello." He turned back to Fermat. "I was hoping to find you at home. I have news about this evening's meet."

Fermat sighed, obviously disappointed. "Let me g-guess: the m-meet is canceled due to the sn-snow."

"I fear it is so. The snowstorm started earlier to the east of us, and accumulations there are greater than those here." Dev's voice was sympathetic. "The opposing team decided it would not be wise to travel here tonight." He shrugged. "So, it will be rescheduled."

Fermat turned to the Tracys. "I'm s-sorry. There's no qu-quiz meet t-tonight."

"Fermat?" Grandma had risen from Fermat's bunk, where she had perched – having found his desk chair a little too ergonomic for her comfort. "Won't you introduce us to your friend?"

"Oh!" Reminded of his lapse in manners, the boy colored. "This is D-Devdan Israni. He's the hall m-monitor for our end of the f-floor, and quiz t-team captain." He turned to the senior. "Dev, the lady is Alan's g-grandma, Mrs. Tracy, and these are his b-brothers, John and V-Virgil."

"Ah. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Dev said as he shook hands all around. When he had finished, he clapped his hands together. "As much as I would like to stay and talk, I must make my way to the dining hall for dinner. Fermat, will you be going there, too?"

John jumped in. "We're planning on taking Fermat and Alan out for dinner." He glanced at Virgil and Alan, a question in his eyes. When he got brisk nods, he asked, "Would you like to join us?"

Dev seemed taken aback by the invitation. "I... I would like that, yes. I do not get away from campus very often, and the prospect of eating at a restaurant is appealing."

"Then it's settled." John turned to A.J. "Do you think your father would be okay with you coming with us? I understand you weren't here when Gordon visited."

A.J.'s face lit up. "Yeah. I'm sure he'd be okay with it."

"Would you do me a favor, Andrew dear?" Grandma's voice was soft and her smile was warm. "Would you call your father and let him know of the invitation? I wouldn't want you to get in trouble with him."

"Okay. Sure." A.J. dug around in his drawer to find his phone.

"Hey, Alan, what about Jason?" Virgil's face wore a look of polite innocence. "We haven't met him yet, and I really want to. After all, we talked with him just last weekend."

Fermat and A.J. both glanced over at Virgil, eyebrows raised. A sly grin crossed Alan's face. "Sure. By all means. Jase is in Oakwood, the next dorm over. Virgil and I can go get him and bring him back."

"Right," Virgil began donning his gloves again. "It'd be easier than everyone going." He clapped Alan on the shoulder. "C'mon, Pinky. Lead the way."

Alan rolled his eyes at his brother's use of his school nickname, but led Virgil to the stairs at the far end of the hall. "Why not the elevator?" Virgil asked, as Alan opened the door to the stuffy stairwell.

"It's good exercise." Alan had both hands in his pockets as he loped quickly, not stopping, down the steps, his shoes making a light patter that echoed throughout the passage. Virgil followed, a touch slower on the unfamiliar stairs. The temperature dropped as they reached the doors; this was now the main entrance, and boys were constantly coming and going. The monitor at the desk was well-bundled up, and waved at Alan as he, then Virgil, burst through to the snowy air outside.

"It's good exercise, _and_ it puts us close to Jase's dorm." Alan paused to let his brother catch up. "Hopefully he won't have already headed for dinner."

"Has he used any of those comebacks we gave him?" Virgil asked, a smirk on his face.

Alan looked thoughtful. "Yeah. I think he used yours... the Mona Lisa one."

"And how did Sable react?"

Virgil's question elicited a chuckle. "She gave him this 'bwuh?' look, and shook her head. Then she stopped asking him that question."

"Damn!" Virgil snapped his fingers, making a dull thud with his gloves on. "I hoped he'd have used Dad's."

"The one from Grandpa?" By this time, they had reached Oakwood and were ascending the snow-covered steps.

"Nah. The Air Force one. That one was great, once you thought about it." Virgil reached out to pull open the door. "I want to meet this Sable. She sounds like a real character."

"You'll have to try and catch her after her shift is over tonight," Alan told him. They were striding down the hallway to Jason's room. "She only works regular breakfast and dinner on weekdays. Says she has a life between shifts."

Virgil was going to make a comment, but he was forestalled by Alan's call. "Jase!"

Jason, who was shrugging into his winter jacket, turned. "Hey, Pinky! What's up?" He gave Virgil a long look, then smiled. "You have family here again?"

"Yeah." Alan pulled up beside his friend. "This is my brother, Virgil. Virge, this is Jason."

The two shook hands, and Jason grinned. "Hey, thanks for that comeback you gave me. It did the trick."

"You're welcome. Alan told me about Sable's reaction."

"Yeah. I'm so relieved that she's stopped asking me that damned question." Jason made movements toward the doors. "You two going to dinner?"

"Yeah, but not here," Alan said. He turned and started walking toward the lobby, his motion bringing Jason and Virgil along with him. "My grandma is here, too, as well as my brother, John. There's no quiz meet tonight..."

Jason jumped in. "What? No Quizzing Whizzards? That sucks!"

"It does." Virgil stepped up to flank Jason on the right. "We've heard a lot about them and wanted to see Fermat own the competition."

"But since there's no quizzing, we're going out for pizza or something." Alan was trying to sound blasé about it, but his underlying eagerness showed through. "Wanna come?"

"Pizza? Away from Wharton?" Jason grinned. "I'm in!"

Alan matched his friend's smile. "Then let's hurry. The rest of the crew is waiting at Fermat's rooms, and I want to go before Grandma thinks it's too dangerous to drive."

xxxx

"Whew!" John dropped heavily into the chair beside Alan. "Remind me never to play pinball against Fermat."

Alan slurped up the last of the soda in his cup. "If I'd known you were going to, I would have warned you. Fermat's initials are at the top of every pinball machine at Wharton."

John chuckled as he rose again, plucking his own empty cup from the table. "I'm going to refill my drink. You want more?"

"Sure." Alan handed over his own cup, laying the straw down beside his plate. They had chosen the pizza place and game room that Brains had taken Fermat to, and now everyone but Alan was playing something. Even Grandma had decided to participate.

"It's been a long time since I played skeeball, but I still think I remember how," she had said as she left the table. "Come on, Andrew, and let an old lady teach you something."

Alan leaned back in his chair, the front legs off the floor, and his balance maintained by a knee strategically placed under the wide round table. He let the chair drop back into position as John returned, two full cups of soda in his hands, and a plate of apple pastries gripped between a straining finger and thumb. Alan took the plate and his cup from his brother, and began to munch on a sweet as John settled down again.

"So, why aren't you out there having fun?" John asked, snagging a pastry for himself. He leaned back in his chair much as Alan had been doing. "There's a motocross VR game that I think you'd like."

With a quick shrug and a long pull on his soft drink's straw, Alan replied, "I dunno. Just wondering if this weekend is gonna be a bust, that's all. I mean, traveling all the way out to Worcester – I don't even know where this place is so I can give you directions."

"Like that matters." John shook his head, eying his younger brother with a keen look. "All we need is the name or address and we can us the GPS." He paused to finish his sweet, then asked, "What's really up with you, Alan?"

The boy was quiet for a bit, then he sighed heavily. "I'm not looking forward to seeing this counselor. I don't want to be told there's something wrong with me, that I'm seeing things. I don't want to relive that whole mess."

"You may not have to, Alan." John sat up straight and leaned in close to his brother, arms folded on the table. "I'm sure she's going to have all the info about what happened; she'll probably focus more on what effect it's having on you now, and will give you tools to help you deal with it." He put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "That's how it went with me."

Alan wouldn't meet John's eyes. "I'm also scared I'll say something about... you know. I'm scared I'll compromise our security or something."

John shook his head. "Just keep things on task, Alan. What happened to you had nothing to do with our little family business, and in a way, that makes things a whole lot easier. Stick to your guns, and don't let the conversation go off onto rabbit trails. I know you can do that, Alan."

"I guess."

John let his brother sit quietly for a bit, then said, "C'mon. I bet I can do better on that motocross game than you can."

This got the response John was looking for. Alan turned to his brother, giving him a sly look of icy disbelief, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "You think?"

"I don't think; I know, so I bet. Ten bucks says I get a higher score."

"Make it ten bucks and all the points on your game card, and you've got a bet."

John laughed. "Okay. You're on." He rose, pushing back his chair, which skidded noisily along the tiled floor. "Let's go."

Alan snorted a laugh, then stood and followed his brother into the game room.

_

* * *

Will the track team go to Worcester, or will they be snowed in? Who is Alan's counselor? Will John and Virgil (and Grandma) get to meet Sable? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	73. Untimely Travel

_Author's note: _A trip to Worcester. Meeting the counselor. I've played a little fast and loose with the school that has the arena. Worcester has Worcester State College, which isn't currently a University of Massachusetts campus. But who knows? By this time, they might have traded up. Thanks to Lillihafrue and Susanmartha for betareading.

ETA 8/14/10: Just got my own alumni letter from the Massachusetts state college I attended. The state college system has now been renamed as a university system. Edits have been made to reflect this.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

Alan unconsciously jiggled his knee as he sat on a bench, waiting with his team. There had been a notice in his email box announcing that they would be going to Worcester to compete and that he should meet the team at 6 a.m. in front of the gym. "We'll have breakfast on the way," the missive said. Alan had called both John and Virgil, leaving a voice mail for the first, and actually speaking to the second.

"Man, that's an early start time! How far away is this place? Do you have an address?" Virgil had asked.

"Yes, it is; a couple of hours, I think, and I'll get one and text it to you," he had promised. And he had, to both brothers, hoping all the while that they'd have time to reach the arena before his race started.

The bus had stopped at a fast food place and the team wolfed down a quick meal there. Now they were at the Worcester State University campus, waiting for directions from the staff as to where they should take their gear and change.

An officious-looking young woman, her blond hair pulled back in a severe ponytail approached the team. She was wearing a shirt that had yellow across the shoulders and sleeves, a thin white stripe below that, and royal blue across the bottom two-thirds of the shirt. The picture of a knight was embroidered just below the right shoulder, and her name tag proclaimed that she was Candice Whittaker. "Wharton Academy?"

"That's us, miss."

Candice raised an eyebrow at the coach's mode of address, but said nothing about it. Instead, she plunged right into dispensing information. "You're in locker room D, down this hall here and second door on the right. Once you're all changed and ready, the room's main door will be locked to protect your gear. Then I'll show you where you can warm up, and where your team should sit. Here's your schedule of events." She handed Evans a data pad, which he perused.

After a moment, he asked, "I see cross-country is running today."

She nodded, her ponytail swinging. "That's right. They're preparing the route now."

"What about my men who are doing both cross-country and track? They'll need to change into dry clothes."

The young woman stifled a sigh. "Bring them to me or one of the other coordinators – we're all wearing shirts like this - and we'll unlock the door. They won't have long to change, though. It's going to be a madhouse today."

"Understood." Evans smiled at her. "I take it we're not the only ones competing."

Shaking her head, she didn't try to stifle her sigh this time. "No. There are nine other schools coming here, including the one you're up against. You're the third to show so far. Your opponents haven't arrived yet." She looked pointedly at her watch, and gestured for the team to follow her down the corridor.

Alan, who had worked his way to near the front of the line, heard Zave ask, "What happens if they don't get here in time?"

"They forfeit, just as if they hadn't shown up at your school."

_Please let them show up,_ Alan prayed as he entered the locker room. _I want to compete, and I don't want my family coming all the way out here for nothing!_

xxxx

Within the next hour, all but one of the seven remaining schools showed up... including the one that Wharton was to compete against. They were last to arrive, so the other teams began their cross-country runs before them. Alan watched the other teams line up, two at a time, leaving roughly 15 minutes apart. Some of the schools had just boys' teams; others had both boys' and girls', which multiplied the number of actual teams competing.

"They're running the same route you'll run," Coach Evans said. "But they're spaced out so that none of the individual races will interfere with the others." He pointed to the two open doors at the end of the huge building. "They go out the one, and will come in the other, but each group of competitors will come in to a different funnel. That way, there's time to get the previous bunch clear before the funnel is needed again."

Zave groused, "The worst thing about going last is that the route will be all muddied up and slick in different spots. I'd rather go first, when the route hasn't been broken in so much."

Alan glanced over to where a group of boys were entering the arena. One of the coordinators was waving them over to a space on the largely empty bleachers. "Better get warmed up, men," Coach Evans said. "Looks like it's our turn."

As Alan moved from the stands to the field, he noticed a small group of people coming through what he'd been told was the main entrance. There were flashes of light, and raised voices, and glimpses of blue-clad officers. The coordinator who had just come in hurried over to the melée; he was joined there by Candice. Alan tried to ignore the commotion, focusing on his warm up exercises. That is, until his coach shouted, "Tracy! Over here, now!"

Alan obediently trotted over, the trot turning into a sprint when he saw his grandmother, two brothers, and Fermat standing by the coach. "Hey, Grandma! Hi, Virge, John! I'm glad you made it!" He touched a clenched fist to Fermat's. "Good to see you, too, Brain. Thanks for bringing him along."

"Looks like we brought some unwanted attention along, too." John glanced back where security guards were trying to control a small gaggle of reporters. He shook his head, his expression rueful. "Sorry about that, Al."

"They probably knew about Alan being here long before we arrived," Coach Evans said. "I made sure we showed up as early as possible to try and avoid them. You folks just had the misfortune of running right into them." He gave Grandma a warm smile. "It's good to see you again, Mrs. Tracy. You've got another fine athlete on your hands here."

"Well, I hope I get to see how fine he is for myself." Grandma dug around in her purse and pulled out a small box. "Here. It's for you, Alan. Put it on, and do your best."

Alan opened the small box. Inside was an oval pendant with the engraving of a man's haloed head on it. He pulled it out on its long chain to read its inscription, then gave his grandmother a puzzled look. "Saint Sebastian?"

"The patron saint of athletes," she replied. Taking it from him, she indicated that he should duck a bit so she could slide it over his head. "Now, tuck that under your shirt, and go do your best."

"Yes, Tracy, hurry up. They're calling our team."

His face still full of confusion, Alan turned and trotted toward the starting line. From behind him, he heard John call out, "Remember your breathing!" He gave a little wave of acknowledgment, and joined his teammates.

"Do you think that little device will work?" Grandma asked as they settled themselves in the stands.

"It should," Virgil said. His brow was furrowed with worry. "It worked well enough in the trials. I just hope it did the trick for us when we walked in here."

"We'll kn-know soon enough, I g-guess," Fermat said with a shrug. "Will you be upgrading our w-watches?"

"Yeah, that's part of the plan, once we have the kinks all worked out." Virgil had settled back. "We'll probably have to give you new ones..." His voice trailed off, then he snorted. "I bet he's wondering exactly when our family became Catholic."

"Our Irish ancestors _were_ Roman Catholic," Grandma said with a sniff. "If they hadn't married Lutheran and Methodist girls, you boys would probably have had catechism classes and taken first communion while you were growing up. Possibly have been altar boys."

"Altar boys? Us?" Virgil gave his grandmother an incredulous look. "Well, Scott, maybe..."

_Better jump in here before we get into a "family discussion"._ Hastily, John said, "The medallion was a quick fix, and easy enough to alter." He pulled off his own watch and activated the tiny screen. "I still can't believe you and Brains managed to miniaturize the camera fogger tech down that small."

"Well, believe it." Virgil smiled, a smug expression. "It was an interesting challenge. We still have to figure out how to keep the fogger from counteracting the view screen on the watches, and I'm hoping that the current version has enough of a range to keep reporters from getting our pictures. And all this work should apply to our newest tech..."

John waved irritably at his brother. "Shush, Virge. I have Brains on the line." Speaking in low tones, he said, "Brains, do you have him?"

"Y-Yes, John. The tracker is w-working perfectly. Is F-F-F... my son there?"

""D-Dad!" Fermat leaned over to gaze into John's watch, and recognized the control room of Thunderbird Five in the background. "H-How are you?"

"F-Fine, son, just f-fine. We're doing some f-field testing today, so I d-don't have time to t-talk, okay?"

"Sure, D-Dad." Fermat sat back up, but stayed close to listen to the two men talk.

"Virgil, do you have the camera?"

"No, I do." Grandma had brought along fabric bag, and from it she pulled a silver metal box. "This is heavy, and you boys are going to carry it back with you. I won't have it squashing my crotchet thread."

"Don't worry, we will, Grandma." Virgil used his thumb print to open the box, then removed a silver sphere. It was about the size of a baseball, and when Virgil ran his fingers across an almost invisible stud, it began to hum.

"Is that one of those a-a-action cams?" Fermat asked, his voice quiet but eager.

"Yep." The metal box contained a thin wafer of a remote control, and John helped himself to that. "It's really a complex piece of technology."

"Which we've m-made even m-more complex," Brains said. He sounded distracted, as if he were working on something while he talked. "O-Okay. I've d-downloaded the tracker fr-frequency."

"I've activated the camera's anti-gravity and... there!" The small ball began to float over Virgil's hand, and to Fermat's surprise, one side irised open, revealing the camera. With the camera revealed, the thing looked very much like a floating silver eyeball.

John pointed the remote at the camera. "All data is now downloaded." He glanced down at the indoor track. "Looks like Alan's ready to start."

The teams were lined up, Alan behind his teammates as before. The gun went off, and the two teams sprinted for the wide open double doors.

"Then let 'er rip!" Virgil gently tossed the ball into the air. It hovered momentarily, then zipped off after the team, ducking through the doorway, and into the air beyond.

"So, it's g-going to f-follow Alan?" Fermat asked.

"Right. But, with any luck, the fogger in the medallion he's wearing will block the camera's feed." Virgil had taken off his own watch. "I'll be watching to see how the fogger works. John will watch for the how the camera itself works, how it avoids obstacles, the picture clarity..."

"Enough, Virgil. You boys can talk shop later." Grandma now pulled from her bag a ball of thick, shiny thread, dyed blue, and a crochet hook. "I want to hear from Fermat about how his school year has been going and how he broke his arm."

"Y-You heard about th-that?" Fermat asked, his eyes wide.

The old lady pulled herself up, and gave the boy a haughty look, which was belied by the twinkle in her eye. "I am Grandma Tracy. I hear all, know all... but not always all the details." She began to crochet, her stitches tiny and tight. "So, how _did_ that happen, Fermat?"

xxxx

Alan felt a surge of energy well up inside him as he came in sight of the arena's door. He had been in control the entire time, watching his breathing, focusing on the track and its terrain, which was just as muddied and slick as Zave had predicted it would be. John's advice rang in his head; at times, he'd felt as if his brother were pacing him, and not his teammates or opponents. Little by little he had taken the lead and now, with this second wind, he intended to put some serious distance between himself and his nearest opponent.

However, as he slithered down the last slushy, muddy slope, he could see a crowd gathered along the rope set up to guide the runners inside. He gave an inward sigh, his steps slowing momentarily as he realized who was behind the flimsy barrier. _Ignore them_, he told himself, and picked up the pace once more, focusing on his task.

A difficult thing to do it was, with the cameras flashing in his eyes, and the reporters waving their microphones and recorders at him, shouting, "Alan! Alan Tracy!" Out of the corner of one eye, he caught a different kind of flash, as of sunlight off a mirror. He sprinted past the reporters without a word or a smile, entering the arena at full speed. Once inside, that bright, reflective sparkle dogging him dulled to a merely gleaming silver. _What the hell __**is**__ that?_

It swooped out of his sight, and a good thing, too, as he was now near the funnel – the one marked with the names of both schools on a support pole – with one of his opponents close on his heels. He put all thoughts of the thing aside, and pushed his body a little more, a little faster, keeping that step or two ahead of his rival. The funnel narrowed, trapping them in order, and Alan lifted his fists in triumph as he crossed the finish line. _Yes! Yes! I did it! I did it! I won!_

In the stands, John and Virgil were on their feet, whooping and clapping. Fermat jumped up and down, cheering, "Woot! Go, Alan!" and Grandma stood, put two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. Alan waved at them as he walked around, cooling off. His eyes widened when he heard his grandmother. _Where'd she learn to do that?_

When his heart rate and breathing were back to normal, and he'd checked his time with the judges, Alan hurried over to his family. "Gotta go get changed," he told them. "Be back soon!"

"We'll be here, Al," John, grinning from ear to ear, assured him. "You did great!"

Alan returned the grin, touched Fermat's outstretched fist with his own, and ran off to join his teammates. He felt so full of excitement and happiness that when he got close to them, he leaped into the air with a, "Woo!", landing right beside Jameson. Grandma watched with pride as, despite her grandson's protests, Jameson ruffled Alan's hair and the rest of the team subtly drew him into their midst.

xxxx

"Aren't you hungry, Alan?" Grandma asked, looking pointedly at Alan's plate. They had taken an out-of-the-way table in the university's food center, and Coach Evans had given Alan permission to eat with his family instead of the team.

"It's not a matter of hunger, Grandma; it's a matter of not weighing myself down." Alan took another bite of his chicken-laden salad. "I need to make sure I have enough energy for the rest of the meet, but not too much bulk sitting in my stomach."

"It's a b-bummer that you have to w-wait for the r-rest of the teams," Fermat said, shaking his head. "You were here e-early, too."

"Yeah, but our opponents weren't, so we have to wait." Alan shrugged. "Shouldn't be too long, though. They had started some of the field events before our teams finished the cross-country, and the track events as soon as we were done." He peered at Virgil, who was viewing something on the tiny screen of his watch. "How did it go?"

"Not bad, Alan, not bad at all. The camera kept up with you but you were kinda fuzzy."

"Which is exactly what we wanted," John proclaimed, putting his last bite of chicken in his mouth with a flourish. "We'll be able to tweak it more later, and see if we can find a way to have both fogger and the new camera operating at the same time. Very important for our _family business_."

Alan shook his head. "Can't believe that you fit both a tracker and a fogger on that little medallion."

"Your tax dollars at work," John quipped. "I'm still amazed by it myself."

"I do kinda wish you'd told me, though." Alan took another bite of chicken and chewed, his mien thoughtful. When he'd swallowed, he added, "I nearly freaked out when I saw that thing at the end."

John nodded. "I'm sorry about that, Al, but we didn't want you distracted by it. Not knowing it was there meant you could focus on what counted: your running."

"A-Aren't you w-worried that people saw you with it?" Fermat asked, a concerned frown furrowing his brow. "Could they put two and t-two together?"

"It's a calculated risk, but Dad figured that others would just think that we had the newest toy on the market. We _are_ rich. We can buy stuff other people can't." Virgil pressed a button on his watch, deactivating the screen, and sat back, rubbing his eyes. "Man, that screen is so small. Gives me a headache trying to focus on it."

"Then give your eyes a rest, Virgil." Grandma began rummaging around in her purse. "I have aspirin in here somewhere..."

As Grandma triumphantly pulled a pillbox from her handbag, John began gathering up the detritus from the meal, piling it on his own tray, and stacking the trays themselves. "I'll go get rid of this."

"Let me," Fermat offered, rising to his feet. "No one wants p-pictures of me."

"Might be a good idea, John, until we find out how well the foggers in the watches work." Virgil finished downing the two aspirin his grandmother had doled out, and was putting his watch back on his wrist. "We'll have to tell Brains to keep an eye out for news reports."

John made a face. "And I'll have to check out the online gossip rags, too, when I get back to work." He pushed the trays over to Fermat. "Your offer is accepted, Fermat. Just don't drop anything."

"Yes, sir!" Fermat gave John a crisp salute, then took the trays off to deal with them. As he did, the members of Wharton's track team closed in around the table.

"Time to go, Pinky," Zave said. "Coach is waiting."

"I'm ready." Alan stood, and - much to his surprised consternation - found himself closely surrounded by his teammates.

"Don't you worry, Mrs. Tracy." Zave gave Grandma an ingratiating smile. "We'll make sure the reporters don't get to him."

"Why, thank you, Xavion. That's very kind of you." As the team hustled Alan off, she called, "We'll be there soon!"

Alan's reply was swallowed up by the background chatter. Fermat returned, and slid into his seat. "S-So, what's next?"

"Next, we take the new doohickey back to the car, lock it in, and hurry over to the arena so we can watch Alan compete." John rose and held out his hand. "Grandma? Can I use your bag?"

"All right, John." With a sigh, Grandma handed over her cloth bag. "Just make sure you bring it back to the arena with my crocheting intact. I want to finish that doily for Onaha before I come out to the island."

John grinned, and copied Fermat's earlier salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

xxxx

"Alan, are you riding back on the bus or going with your brothers and grandmother?"

The meet was over. Wharton had outdone their competition in every event, with the exception of the javelin. Julio Estevez injured his shoulder with his first throw, and the coach – who took him to the university's medical center for evaluation – said he'd be benched with the injury for the rest of the season.

"Um." Alan glanced between his grandmother, who was waiting patiently with John, and Coach Evans, who was checking in the rest of the team. "Do you mind if I go with my family?"

The coach shook his head. "Not at all, Alan. I know they've come a long way to see you, and you're in good hands with them. Just make sure you get your gear off the bus, and bring it to the gym tomorrow."

"Okay. Thanks, Coach."

As Alan searched for his gym bag among the others already loaded, Coach Evans approached Grandma and John, his hand extended. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Tracy. I hope today's competition didn't disappoint you."

Grandma took his hand and shook it firmly. "Not at all, Mr. Evans, not at all. Your boys put forth their best effort, and I'm sure Wharton will be very proud of them. I hope the young man who hurt himself will get better soon."

"It was great to see Alan in action," John said as he shook the coach's hand in turn. "I'll have to make time for another visit to watch him compete again... or maybe for no reason at all."

"I'm glad to have him on my team. He's a good kid, a resilient kid. You have every right to be proud of him."

Grandma reached up to touch John's face with a gentle hand. "I'm proud of all of my grandsons, Mr. Evans. Today, Alan has made me prouder of him... if that's at all possible."

"Found my gear!" Alan sidled up, his bag slung over one shoulder. "I need to get my phone out of the bus..."

"I'll take the bag," John said. "You get your phone and meet us at the car. Grandma? You want to come now or wait for Alan?"

"I'll wait for him, but he'd better be quick about it!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Alan handed his bag to his brother and took the steps to the bus two at a time. "Hey, Carter! You're sitting in my seat!"

"Yeah? So?" Carter folded his arms, and gave Alan a cool look. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Alan grinned as he approached. "Nothing! Just need my phone." Digging into the seat pocket, he found what he was looking for. "See you guys back at Wharton!"

A variety of shouts, some silly, some earnest, followed him down the aisle. He paused long enough to bump fists with Zave before jumping from the top step to the pavement outside.

Coach Evans clapped a hand to the boy's shoulder. "Be careful, Alan. We'll see you Monday."

"Yes, sir!"

As the coach climbed aboard, he paused long enough to lean out and add, "Don't give your grandma any guff!"

"No, sir! I won't!"

Grandma took his arm, and they wound their way through the parked vehicles. Behind them, the bus revved its engine, and pulled out from its temporary berth. Alan took a moment to wave before turning again to his grandmother. "I'm glad to be traveling back with you, Grandma. It's like we haven't had any time together."

"I know, Alan. It's such a short visit, but I..." Her words trailed off as Alan stopped in his tracks and stiffened, his gaze drawn to a car four or five rows over. She followed his stricken look to see a quartet of young men laughing as they climbed into their car. "Alan? What's wrong?"

He shook his head sharply, and let out a deep breath. His muscles relaxed somewhat beneath her hand. "Nothing, Grandma. I just thought I saw... I heard someone..."

"One of the men who attacked you?" Gently, she began to guide him away, towards the SUV where Virgil stood by an open door, waiting.

Alan nodded, a quick sharp motion. "Yeah. One of them. I know it can't be him; he's in jail. But still..." He shuddered, and Grandma stopped in her tracks. She put a wrinkled hand to his cheek.

"When do you start seeing your counselor?"

He gave her a rueful smile. "Did Dad tell you about that?" Moistening his lips with his tongue, he paused before replying. "Tuesday evening. She's very busy, or so I'm told. This is one time where I'm kinda glad money talks, and Dad's got a very loud voice because of it."

"I hope she's able to help you, Alan. You don't deserve to go through life looking over your shoulder." They began walking again, and got near to the SUV before Virgil called to them.

"Hey, what took you so long?"

"Had to get my phone," Alan said, holding out the device.

"Ah, I see." Virgil stepped in front of Alan. "Before we go any further, there's something we have to settle."

Alan gave Grandma a quick look as if to ask, "What does he mean?" She returned his glance with a shrug that said, "Don't ask me."

"Okay, I'll bite. What do we have to settle?"

"Which one of us rides shotgun."

"What does that matter, Virgil?" Grandma asked, her tone acerbic. "I said I'd ride in back..."

"I know, Grandma, but you drove this morning, and John rode shotgun. John's driving back, but he wants Alan to..."

"If he wants Alan to ride shotgun, then Alan should ride shotgun."

"But I want to..."

"Hey!" Alan stepped in. "Grandma, we'll settle this in the time-honored way that we Tracys use to settle every dispute of such magnitude: rock, paper, scissors."

Grandma sighed and shook her head. Virgil grinned and said, "Exactly!" Holding one fist in the other hand, he asked, "Ready?"

Alan mimicked his brother's stance, and nodded. "Ready."

"Rock, paper, scissors... go!"

Fists smacked into open hands with each word, and when the word, "Go!" was uttered, each presented their hand. Virgil's hand was still a fist, while Alan held his out flat, fingers pressed together.

"Paper covers rock. I ride shotgun." Alan couldn't help but smirk; it wasn't often he won these little duels against his brothers.

Virgil frowned. "Best two out of ..."

Grandma interrupted. "No. Now that you've settled it in the 'time-honored way', let's get on the road. I'm an old woman and I'm getting hungry."

Virgil sighed. "Yes, Grandma." He stood back to let Alan and Grandma pass, then trudged around the vehicle to the door on the driver's side. Fermat was already in rear seat, on the phone with his father.

Alan commented, "You drove this morning?"

"Well, of course. I asked John when the last time he'd driven in snow was, and he couldn't tell me, so..." She smiled, a slightly smug expression. "He shouldn't have any trouble on the way back, though. The roads should be clear."

Alan chuckled, then handed his grandmother into the seat behind his, closing the door as soon as she was settled. As he swung himself into the front passenger seat, John quietly remarked, "I take it you won."

Alan grinned. "Paper covers rock."

"Ah, good choice." With a glance in the rear view mirror, John, sounding very much like his father, announced, "Is everyone settled back there?" When he received affirmative answers – a rather grumpy one from Virgil – he started the engine. "Well then, let's hit the road."

xxxx

"You asleep over there?"

Alan took in a deep breath and shook his head. He glanced over at John. "Nah. Just thinking."

"'Bout what, Al?" John studiously kept his eyes on the road. It was fully night now, and in the rear of the SUV, Virgil was dozing. Fermat had finished his call to Brains, and was now texting Tin-Tin, having a spirited long-distance conversation with her. Grandma had a small work light clipped to her glasses. It gave her enough light to see what her hands were doing. The spidery weave of the blue doily was taking shape, but her hands were deft enough that she could crochet and still eavesdrop on her grandsons' conversation.

"Something Grandma said." Alan pulled on his seat belt a little, settling the shoulder restraint back under his jacket collar. "She said that I deserved to live my life without looking over my shoulder, wondering if someone was going to attack me." He glanced over at his blond brother. "Do you think that's true?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" John was puzzled and it showed in his tone. "I mean, no one should have to feel like they're being pursued or stalked." He frowned, his high forehead creasing into slight folds. "You, of all people, have the right to feel safe. You're still... you're still a kid."

"But I have enemies." The statement was flat and matter-of-fact. "And not because I've necessarily done anything, but because of who I am. Who my family is. Who my father is. What we do. None of which I can change." Alan's gaze shifted to the scenery outside; the stands of white birch rose like spindly ghosts from the still-substantial snow cover. "Sometimes I wonder: what if the Hood got out of jail? What if Steve decided to... to finish the job? He's not in jail, you know; he's out somewhere on probation and... he knows where I am."

John was quiet for a bit before speaking. "You know, sometimes I worry about the Hood getting out, too. I mean, with those powers of his, he could do anything. I know Penny's assured us time and again that the prison is taking precautions..." He shrugged, a quick motion. "I can't let it consume me. I've chosen to do what I do. Yes, it makes me a target, not only for the Hood but for anyone with a grudge against International Rescue. I'm a Tracy, and proud of it, even though that makes me a target, too. From someone who hates Dad. Or somebody looking for quick money. Anyone who really hates my books..."

"Hates your books... right." Alan chuckled at this last one. "How much fan mail do you get, again?"

"Well, the fan mail isn't so much about the books as it is about my admittedly tiny but totally sexy picture on the back." John sighed. "Another reason why I don't go on rescues often; my face is out there already." He straightened up a bit. "But back to the subject: you and your safety. Have you talked with Dad about this?"

"Some. I told him about what happened when I gave him the counselors' names. He told me that there was a restraining order against Steve; he'd had Mr. Wolfe set it up after we heard what the judge had decided." Alan wrapped his arms around himself as if cold. "Not that it would do much good if Steve was determined."

"True," John admitted. Shaking his head, he continued, his tone impassioned, "Alan, you _do_ deserve to live a life where you're not looking over your shoulder all the time and starting at every shadow. We all do. But I don't know what else I can say or do to convince you of that." He huffed out a breath in frustration. "I hope your counselor can help in that regard."

"I won't be able to tell her all the stuff about the Hood."

"I know. But you _can_ talk to her about your fears, and not only those stemming from the attack. And I think you'll find that, in time, your fears will fade. Mine have." John flicked on the turn signal. "This is our exit, right?"

"Yeah. It is."

As they eased off the turnpike and slowed to pay their toll, Alan thought over what his brother had said. When they had passed the tollbooth, he asked, "So what's your schedule for the next week?"

John grimaced. "Back upstairs for the remainder of next week and the week after that. Then it's Virge's turn to take Five and I get my week off. I'm going to ask Dad if I can come out and visit again. Still haven't met this mysterious and intriguing Sable of yours, and I'd like to."

Alan held his hands up as if in self-defense and shook his head vehemently. "Uh-uh. She's not mine! No way!"

Laughing, John touched the control for the on-board computer. "I think you protest too much there, Al. Now, where's a good place to eat that's not pizza and games? Grandma said she was hungry, but that was a while ago. She must be ravenous now."

"I'm on it." With that, Alan began the search for a restaurant that would satisfy the various tastes of his family.

xxxx

The rest of the weekend flew by. Alan tried to return his St. Sebastian medal to his grandmother, but she told him to keep it.

"He might bring you luck, and will definitely keep those reporters from snapping your picture."

The week started its familiar rhythms again, and a knot began to grow in Alan's stomach as Tuesday evening approached. He confided to Fermat. "This is going to be harder than I thought. I guess the old 'Tracys suck it up and don't complain' is tougher to get past than I realized."

"Alan," Fermat said, his tone calm. "Your f-f-f... dad got p-past that, right?"

"Yes."

"And you said J-John did, too, right?"

Alan nodded. "That's what he told me."

"Then you can, t-too." Fermat held his hands up, palms facing the dark sky. "She's not going to b-b-b...eat you."

"I'm not so sure about that. She could have the same personality as Ms. Belvedere.

Fermat laughed, and gave Alan's shoulder a quick, friendly punch. "No one could be that b-bad."

Alan replied with a snorted laugh. "I hope you're right."

Now, it was time. Alan, hands in his jacket pockets and butterflies in his stomach, entered the health center. He greeted Sandy with a quick wave. "Hey. I'm here for my appointment with Dr. Fisher."

A soft voice to his right called to him. "Alan Tracy?" He turned to find a tall, dark-skinned woman rising from one of the waiting room chairs. Her tightly curled dark hair was spangled with silver, and she wore a soft, mint-green pull-over sweater, and a pair of gray woolen trousers. A heavy coat and a leather briefcase lay across the seat beside her. She held out her hand, smiling. "I'm Dr. Alice Fisher. It's nice to meet you."

Taking her hand, Alan shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, too, Dr. Fisher."

Sandy stood. "Ms. Bell said you're to use her office. If you'd follow me..."

Ms. Bell's office turned out to be comfortable, quiet, and soothing. Dr. Fisher pulled the leather desk out so she would face Alan, who she ensconced in the stuffed armchair that sat in the corner. "I'm familiar with Ms. Bell's office," she said as she did this. "She's okay with my using her chair, as long as I remember to put it back." Finally comfortable with her preparations, she sat down, crossing her legs at the knee. "So, Alan. How are you?"

Alan smiled, an uncertain expression. "Um... okay, I guess. A bit nervous."

"To be expected, faced with a stranger." Dr. Fisher opened the briefcase she'd brought with her. She pulled out a data pad, which she set aside on Ms. Bell's desk. "Let me tell you a little about myself, by way of an introduction."

As she detailed her education and experience, Alan watched and listened to her talk. Not so much what she was saying – though her credentials were impressive – but how she said things. She had a soothing voice, and her hands moved gracefully as she spoke. Finally, she wound down with, "And I have two young grandsons, ages two and five."

"You don't look old enough to have grandchildren."

Dr. Fisher chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

Alan shrugged. "My grandma was here over the weekend. You're much younger than she is."

"And, if my information is correct, all of her grandsons are much older than mine – which would account for the difference." She paused for a moment, searching Alan's face. "Did you have a good weekend?"

This brought out a grin. "The best! Two of my brothers came and they picked her up on the way, so I got to see three family members when I only expected one. I only wish it could have lasted longer. I miss her." _Where'd that come from? I mean, yeah, I miss Grandma, but to just blurt it out like that!_

"Do you miss the rest of your family?"

"Well, yeah. Of course. I miss them a lot." _Here we go, right into picking apart my brain._

She must have seen something in his expression, because she surprised him with a chuckle. "I'm sorry. I meant for our first session to be a 'get to know each other' and I'm already asking the 'counselor questions', aren't I?" She hooked the first two fingers of each hand when she mentioned the second set of words. She picked up her data pad, and settled it in her lap. "Okay, back on track. It's your turn. Tell me about yourself. Introduce me to Alan Shepard Tracy."

He took in a breath, and blew it out slowly, then drew his upper lip between his teeth, letting it slide slowly out. "Okay. So, where should I start?"

"Wherever you like."

"Okay." He rubbed his hands together. "I'm Alan Tracy. I'm fifteen years old and a sophomore here at Wharton. My home is on a private island somewhere near New Zealand. When I'm not here, I live there with my dad, my four brothers, my friends Fermat and Tin-Tin, Fermat's dad, and Tin-Tin's parents, who are our housekeepers."

"That's a good start," she said. "Why are you here at Wharton?"

Alan frowned as he thought about the question. "Well, my dad thinks I need to be in school with other kids, so I can learn how to interact with people my own age. He thinks I should have more opportunities than home education would give me." He snorted a laugh. "Besides, things didn't work out so well at the school before this. I had a little... um... accident."

Dr. Fisher smiled, and nodded. "I know about that, too. What do you think about your father's ideas?"

Alan got a faraway look in his eyes. "Last year, I would have told you he was crazy. I hated it here; I wanted to be home educated so bad. This year... it's different. I understand where he's coming from. I'm doing things now I couldn't do at home and finding out who I am." His focus returned to his counselor and he shrugged a little. "And for once, I'm having fun... though don't tell my teachers that."

Dr. Fisher chuckled again. "I won't; promise." She shifted in her chair a little, hiding the fact that she was consulting her notes. "So, you're having fun. What are you doing that's so much fun?"

"Hanging out with my friends. Being on the track team. Learning new stuff. Going new places. Meeting new people. Too much to tell, really."

"So, you like it here?"

"Yeah. I do."

Dr. Fisher considered him quietly, then asked, "Even with all the not-fun stuff that happened?"

He was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. "Yeah. Even with all of that crap. I still like it here. It's where I need to be."

A slow smile crossed her face. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. We can talk about that crap later. I just wanted to get to know you a little tonight." She shifted her position again, and took the crossed leg down. "Tell me about your weekend. Why was it the best?"

Alan found himself relaxing. _When she brought up the "not-fun" stuff, I figured she'd want to talk about it right away. I'm kinda glad I can put it off another week._ "My weekend? Well, my brother, John was supposed to come out and see me compete..."

_

* * *

Can Dr. Fisher help Alan? Will Virgil and Brains get the cameras and watches to work with the camera fogger? When will the boys get new watches? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	74. Unfortunate Forecast

_Author's note: _Alan's schedule. Fermat's new hobby. First quarter report cards arrive. Classes are canceled. A rescue is called in. Thanks to Lillehafrue for input on Mt. Washington, and to Susanmartha for betareading.

ETA: Thanks to GinnyStar for finding something I missed. It's fixed now.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

The following two weeks were hectic. Alan's teachers piled on the homework, trying to get as much done as possible before the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. When he wasn't practicing, doing homework, or seeing Dr. Fisher, he was in the weight room, strengthening his shoulder in particular. Coach Evans had slotted him in for the javelin in Julio's place, at least until Julio had recovered, and Alan knew his shoulder wasn't yet up to the job. He didn't have much time for just goofing off with his friends, though he and Fermat still worked on their math assignments together.

Fermat found himself drawn into the complexities of robotics. He wasn't an official member of the team, but he and Robbie – with whom he spent an increasing amount of time – worked together to iron out the programming kinks in Wharton's LEGO robot. Finally, the team sponsor, Ms. Gerrick, suggested that he join up. "We could really use someone with your particular skills, Fermat."

Fermat blinked. He was already surprised at how nice – and sometimes funny - Ms. Gerrick could be in Robotics, compared to how mean she had seemed in class the year before. "I'd h-have to ask my d-d-d... father," he explained. "He said only one e-e-extra-curricular activity, and I'm on the qu-quiz team."

"I understand. Definitely don't want to take you from quizzing, especially since the team is undefeated. But please sound him out on the idea. Even post-season quizzing competitions – which, by the way, I think you'll definitely be involved in – shouldn't interfere with our robotics tourneys. I can email you a schedule, so you can compare the two..."

"Sure."

With the schedule in hand, and his roommate absent, Fermat called his father.

"I d-don't know, son." Brains turned off the light on his high-powered magnifier so he could focus on the conversation. "I w-worry about how it would a-affect your st-studies."

Fermat thought hard. _How can I get him to say "yes"?_ His eyes widened as an idea came to him. _It's worth a try._

"Wh-What if I asked Mr. Feng for his o-opinion? He'd know b-better than anyone if I can h-hack it."

Brains's brow furrowed as he thought over the option. "T-Tell you what: _I'll_ ask M-Mr. Feng's opinion. If he thinks you can d-do both and k-k-keep your grades up, then I'll a-approve." He sighed. "I j-just worry about your a-age, Fermat. You're still so y-young. A c-couple of years more maturity can m-make a big difference."

Sighing, Fermat nodded. "I know. It's just... well, it's so m-much fun!"

Brains smiled. "I'll t-talk to Mr. F-Feng and get back to you."

"Okay, D-Dad. I'll be waiting." The boy paused, then asked, "How is the p-project going?"

"Very w-well, actually. We've m-managed to fine-tune the f-fogger to ignore the f-flying camera by l-limiting the number of wavelengths the camera will broadcast on. We've also w-written an encryption p-program to scramble the c-camera's output on b-both ends. Virgil and I h-have been working on it, with J-John's help. When V-Virgil goes upstairs, John and I will t-tweak it some more. Did you get the w-watch?"

"Yeah, I did." Fermat held up his arm. "I guess you g-got this one s-solved?"

"Partially. If the main c-camera fogger is activated around the w-watches, then the video part of the w-watch won't activate. Just the audio. We'll continue to w-work on it, but they'll function well enough for y-your needs."

"That's gr-great, Dad!" The boy paused, then asked, "When will you be c-coming out again?"

Brains took a moment to pull up Fermat's quizzing schedule. Each meet that had already taken place was marked in blue, with the final score added to it. "Let's see. I d-don't think I can c-come until mid-November, son. There's t-too much on my plate right now."

Fermat looked a little disappointed, so Brains added, "You could have Alan r-record the interim meets, and I can w-watch them later."

"I'll t-talk to him and see if he will. I just w-wish you could come for this week's m-meet, even though it's an away g-game. We're up against N-Northampton again."

"Ooh." Brains gritted his teeth. "T-Tempting. V-Very tempting. But I just don't see that I c-can, son. I'm sorry. I will m-make arrangements to be at your m-mid-November meet, though. That's at Wharton, r-right?"

"Yeah. It is." Fermat sighed, and Brains's heart went out to his son.

"I'm sorry, Fermat. I r-really am." When there was no response, he added, "I'll c-contact Mr. Feng right away about the r-robotics and g-get back to you, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

There was nothing more Brains could think of saying, so he just made his farewells. "Have a g-good night, son. I love you."

"Love you, too, Dad," was the dispirited reply. "B-Bye."

The conversation ended, broken at Fermat's end. Brains took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he set about composing an email to Gary Feng.

xxxx

In early November, report cards for the first nine weeks arrived. Having received Alan's via email, Jeff gave his son a call.

"Alan!" Jeff's face almost couldn't contain its smile. "I just got your report card!"

"You did?" Alan didn't know whether or not this was a good thing. "I haven't got my copy yet. How'd I do?"

"Very, very well, son. I couldn't ask for better... well, there _is_ room for improvement in your history grade, but it's still a respectable one. Even with the time you had recuperating, you managed to keep your grades up. I'm very proud of you, Alan."

"Whew!" Alan dramatically passed a hand over his brow. "Thanks, Dad. You had me scared for a minute there."

Jeff rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head. "If you were in trouble, I wouldn't be grinning from ear to ear." He leaned back in his chair. "You know what the best thing is about this report card?"

"I don't know what could be better than good grades."

"The teachers' comments."

Alan grimaced. "Oh, yeah. Those. I guess they're not like last year's, are they?"

"Nope. Dr. Cambioso says you're attentive and a pleasure to teach. Mr. Graboski says you're well-disciplined. Mr. Beccara says you take the initiative and are willing to help others. Ms. McCall, your English teacher, says that you consistently contribute in class. Mrs. Morissette – she's your history teacher, right? She says you are well-mannered and a joy to teach."

"She does? Oh, man." Alan shook his head. "I didn't expect that. I always thought I aggravated her, though I never knew why."

"Well, obviously she sees something you don't." Jeff consulted the email again. "Your computer science teacher says you're a pleasure to teach, and your biology teacher mentions that you contribute in class. Overall, a big improvement over last year."

"At least I can't blow anything up in Biology." Alan settled back in his chair. "I'm glad that I didn't get too far behind with everything that happened."

"So am I, Alan. So am I."

There was a pause in the conversation, then Alan asked, "How is everyone at home?"

"Pretty good, Alan. Except for Virgil; he caught a cold at that last rescue, so we're waiting until it clears to send him upstairs. Shouldn't be much longer; maybe a couple more days. The weather here has been really hot for this time of year. Gordon's spending whole days in the pool."

"Wish I could say that. It's been really cold and we still have a couple of inches of snow on the ground from that last storm The weather guys say there'll be snow tomorrow, then some early next week. If it's not snowing, we get freezing rain. We've barely seen the sun for at least a week now. Zave took me, Kay, and Fermat to the mall so we could shop for winter clothes. I bought some kinda pricey snow boots; I hope that's okay."

"Of course. You get what you need. I'll make sure you have the money." Jeff tapped his stylus against the desktop. "How are things going with Dr. Fisher?"

"Pretty good, I think. She's a good listener, and she kinda guides me into figuring out ways to deal with the crap that happened. I feel more... stable. Like I have magnetic boots to keep me grounded." Alan shrugged a little. "It's hard to explain."

"I do understand, Alan. Been there, done that, after your mother's death. And even though it's been many years since then, I sometimes still need those tools my counselor taught me. Not necessarily for dealing with grief, but for dealing with other things... like my sons."

Alan's expression and tone were unreadable; it was as if he couldn't decide between a sympathetic smile or a teasing grin. "Like me?"

"Sometimes. But not just you. All of you have given me gray hairs. In fact, I'm still surprised my hair hasn't gone all salt-and-pepper yet."

"You sure you're not coloring it or something?"

Jeff snorted a laugh. "Not yet. Probably not ever. When I start going gray, I'll keep every single one of those gray hairs, because, dammit, I've _earned _them!"

Now Alan's smile widened and became teasing. "What if you go bald before that? Y'know, from tearing all your hair out over us."

His father straightened up. "Balding... hm." He shook his head sharply. "Nope. Not going there. Not ever. I'll get some hair restorative or something if it looks like my hairline is receding a little too far."

Father and son shared a laugh. A chime sounded in the background. "Dang!" Alan said. "Gotta go, Dad. Meeting Julio at the weight room. Trying to help him strengthen his shoulder again. Hey, is Grandma still visiting?"

"Yep. She's staying here until after Thanksgiving. She wants to make a full course, traditional Thanksgiving dinner for us. Poor Onaha is almost banned from the kitchen!"

"Grandma's making Thanksgiving turkey! All right!" Alan was shrugging into his warmest jacket as he spoke. "Give her a kiss and hug from me, please, and tell her I love her."

"I will. Be careful, son."

"Always, Dad. Love you; gotta go! Bye!"

The call ended on Alan's end before Jeff could respond. He shook his head, a soft smile touching his lips. Then, with a sigh, he closed the conversation window, and emailed the report card to his other sons so they could see how well their brother was doing.

xxxx

Even in this enlightened day and age, weather forecasting was still a matter of educated guesses. Highly educated guesses, but guesses nonetheless. So it was that the snow storm promised for the next day turned into freezing rain, and the one forecast for the following week took on far more ominous proportions.

xxxx

"Man, look at it snow!" Alan's eyes shone as he gazed out his dorm room window. "This is so cool!"

"Cold, you mean," Dom remarked, rolling his eyes. He didn't move from his position on his bunk, stomach-down and reading a textbook. "I like some snow, but this is gonna be too much." He huffed out a breath. "My parents forgot to buy me any boots, and I think we're going to need them when this stops."

There was a buzz at the door, and Dom called out, "Come in!" Jason entered, his cheeks red from cold and a light layer of melting snowflakes dampening his hat and jacket.

"Did you guys hear?" he asked, his eyes shining with excitement. "We're under a blizzard warning!"

"Blizzard?" Alan looked delighted. "No way, man!"

"Yeah way," Jason replied, pulling off his knit cap. His recently cut red hair stood out in odd patches. "We're supposed to get up to three feet!"

"And this on top of the freezing rain from last night." Dom didn't sound too enthusiastic. He put his book aside, and rolled over to sit on the edge of his bed. "No wonder why classes were canceled today."

"Hey, how're we gonna get to the dining hall?" Alan asked, his excitement dampening a bit. "We still gotta eat."

"The sidewalk plows are out, and the walkways aren't too bad." Jason shrugged out of his jacket, and removed his knit scarf. "They put sand and salt down this morning, but probably couldn't get to all the walks in time for classes." He dropped his outer clothes on the floor. "We need hooks in these rooms for times like this." With a motion, he asked Dom for permission to use his desk chair. Dom nodded, and Jason parked himself, sitting so he faced the back of the chair. "I was out early today. You should have seen the trees." He let out a satisfied sigh. "The branches were covered in ice and looked all silvery. Too bad there wasn't any sun. They always look awesome in the sun."

"That's going to make the branches heavy," Dom predicted. "And the snow will just add to it." He shook his head. "Watch how many branches come down."

"Pessimist." Alan turned in his chair to face Jason. "Hey! How about a snowball fight?"

Jason grinned. "That's why I came. Kay and Zave are organizing one right now. It'll be massively awesome. The snow is just right for packing."

Alan jumped up from his seat. "Count me in!" He opened his wardrobe and pulled out his warmest jacket.

"Count me out," Dom said. "I'm going to stay inside where it's warm and dry."

"Your loss, then." Alan shrugged into his jacket, and patted his pockets, checking to see if his gloves were there. He pulled a pair of expensive snow boots out of the closet, and sat down to put them on. "Glad I got out to the mall when I did. I'm gonna get lots of use out of these."

Jason retrieved his own coat and wrapped his scarf securely around his neck. "Better make sure you cover your nose and mouth, too, if you can," he warned. "The wind is really wild."

"Gotcha!" Alan finished lacing up his boots and pulled his hat on. "Let's go see if Fermat and A.J. want to join in."

"The more the merrier, man; the more the merrier!" Jason said with a grin. "See you later, Dom!"

xxxx

"Look at the s-s-s-snow!" Fermat all but squealed. "There's so m-much of it!"

"I know!" A. J. joined his roommate at the window. "I heard on the televid that we're under a blizzard warning!" He shivered in delight. "I love snow, especially this early in the year. By February, I'm usually sick of it."

"It's s-spring where I l-live," Fermat said, sighing. "It'll s-start to get hot and m-m-m... humid there soon."

A.J. didn't seem to hear him. He seemed mesmerized by the furiously swirling snow. "Wow. Look at the tree."

"Wh-What about it?" Fermat pressed his face closer to the window, to the point that he left nose prints, and breathed out mist. "It's just across the d-drive, and I can b-barely s-see it."

"The branches are all covered with snow, from all sides." The younger boy glanced over at Fermat. "Usually, it's just the top of the branch that has snow on it. But the way this wind keeps whipping things around..."

"And the fr-freezing rain we had earlier..." Fermat added.

A.J.'s eyes widened with sudden realization. "Yeah! I'd forgotten about the ice! I bet that helps the snow stick better." He turned back to the window. "Wonder what this snow is like?"

"Well, why d-don't we f-find out, then we can l-look up the I-Inuit word for it." Fermat suddenly drew back and pointed. "Isn't that A-Alan?"

A.J. peered out, squinting past the whirling snow. "Looks like it! He's got Jason with him. They're coming in!"

"Let's g-go see why."

The two boys scrambled away from the window, and out the door of their room. Fermat called the elevator, but when it opened, Alan and Jason were in the car.

"Hey, guys!" Alan took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. "Wanna have a snowball fight? Zave is organizing a big one on the quad."

The two boys glanced at each other. "Sure!" A.J. said, grinning. "We can do an in-depth study of the snow while we're splatting everyone else."

"A study of snow?" Jason looked and sounded incredulous. "Dude, what for?"

"The I-Inuit have lots of words for snow. We want to f-figure out which one d-describes this stuff." Fermat sounded smugly confident, but Jason just shook his head.

"Dude, don't you know? That's not true; it's an urban legend."

Fermat's eyes widened behind his glasses. "N-N-No! No w-way!"

"Yeah way." Jason was now the smug one. "My parents spent some time in the Aleutians a few years ago, and found that out."

"Well, then," A.J. said cheerfully. "We can just go out and have fun!"

Alan laughed. "That's more like it! C'mon, Fermat, get your winter gear! The white winds await!"

xxxx

"Any change in conditions?"

Dr. Alice Harding stood by the reinforced windows of the weather station atop New Hampshire's Mount Washington. She could see nothing outside except a swirling gray mass that might be snow or cloud or even rime ice. The weather system had moved in with a vengeance just a few hours before. They had been prepared for it; they always were. But no one could be prepared for every contingency.

"Things are getting worse. This storm isn't going to let up until tomorrow afternoon, if then." Matthew Chang, the meteorologist on duty, told her. "What did the National Guard have to say?"

Dr. Harding shook her head. "They can't get up here. Their equipment just can't cope with these winds."

Jen Adamson, one of the center's volunteers for the week, asked, "If we could get a doctor up here, they could stabilize him, right? Make sure he's okay until the storm stops?"

"That's too risky, Jen," Alice replied with a sad sigh. "Acute appendicitis can be dangerous. The appendix could burst, and that's extremely dangerous."

"But he'd at least have a chance. The doctors in the valley are willing to come, if we can find transport." Her tone was pleading.

One of the State Park employees, Daniel McCullough, cleared his throat. "Uh, I once read about a guy who performed his own..." His voice trailed off as he saw how the others were looking at him.

"I'm a meteorologist, not a medical doctor," Alice snapped. "And Chuck is a realtor, up here as a volunteer. Please remember that." Moderating her tone, she continued. "It's too long and risky for the tractors to go down and pick someone up." She shook her head again. "Or for us to bring him down, for that matter. The visibility is just that bad."

"There _is_ someone else who might be able to help," Matt said, trying to persuade the scientist. "All we have to do is call them."

Alice turned to him. "Who?" she asked, her tone one of disbelief.

"International Rescue."

Her eyes widened, then closed. Her face took on a rueful expression, and she huffed out a self-deprecating sigh. "Of course. I don't know why I didn't think of them." She paused, then asked, "Do you think their craft can deal with the winds and the zero visibility?"

Jen's face had brightened, and she nodded. "Probably. They rescued a party from a glacier not long ago. Bad weather in that situation, too."

"Ah, but we have the world's _worst_ weather." Alice raised a finger, but her tone was one of slight humor. She shrugged. "I guess all we can do is ask. How do we get in touch with them?"

Matt grinned. "Let me take care of that."

Alice nodded firmly, "Okay." Tapping her chin with a fingernail, she thought for a moment. "It might be wise to get a doctor up here to stabilize Chuck, then have them take him down." Looking up, she ordered, "Once we have confirmation that they're coming, then we can get hold of the folks in the valley, and coordinate with them. Dan, we may have to ask you to use the plow and clear landing space for them."

"I'll get the tractor warmed up as soon as you give the word." He glanced outside. "I'd better get started on chiseling our way out."

"Yeah!" Jen rose from her seat. "I'll go check on Chuck right now; see how he's doing. I hope that IR can here quickly, before his appendix decides to burst."

xxxx

"Man! That was great!" Alan shook the flakes from his outer clothes as he entered. "You missed a really great snowball fight, Dom. It was fantastic!"

"Why'd you stop?" Dom asked, turning from his computer to watch his roommate shed his coat.

Alan ducked into the bathroom with his jacket, but carried on the conversation while he removed his sodden boots and pants. "Mr. Mags came out and told us to stop. It was getting dark anyway; with the winds like they are, we could barely see. " He came out wearing a bathrobe, his socks, gloves, and hat in hand. He draped them on the room's heater to dry, and warmed his hands over the hot air it dispensed. "Whew! It was cold!"

"I'm sure there'll be a better fight tomorrow. I've already heard that they've canceled classes again."

Alan's eyes widened. "Really?"

Dom sounded smug. "Yup. News went out over the campus email, and on the website."

"Yes!" Alan made a fist and pumped his arm down once, then opened his drawers to find some dry jeans. As he sat and donned them, he said, "Y'know, you were right about the branches. A couple of big ones came down at the far end of the quad, up by Maplewood."

"Do y'mean that oak tree? The one they still have roped off?" When Alan nodded, Dom continued, frowning. "That one's awfully old. I hope it doesn't lose too many branches."

Dom's comment reminded Alan what Fermat had told him after the first snowfall. "Yeah. I hope so, too."

xxxx

The swelling harmonies of Rimsky-Korsakov's _Scheherezade_ cut off as a male voice boomed from the speaker. "Calling International Rescue. Calling International Rescue. Can you hear me?"

Virgil hurried to turn down the volume and key the microphone. "This is International Rescue. What is your emergency?" He sat in the command chair, fidgeting. He had finally shaken his cold, and John had gone home to the island, while he was left on Thunderbird Five. He didn't have access to the things that usually kept him sane. Though he had brought an electronic tablet and had a virtual keyboard at his disposal, they just didn't compare with his usual art supplies and instrument. He could swear that the keys were marginally out of tune. So he spent his time playing his favorite music... at twice the volume that would normally be allowed back home, and communicating back and forth with Brains as they worked on their camera vs. fogger dilemma.

"This is Mount Washington Observatory in New Hampshire," a male voice replied. "We have a medical emergency."

"Go on," Virgil prompted when the caller paused.

"Well, we've got some really bad weather up here. Visibility is down to under 10 feet, winds are high and gusty, and we have a volunteer with what appears to be acute appendicitis. We have no real medical facilities to treat him."

Virgil pressed the keys that would put him in touch with the island. "What do you need us to do?"

"First of all, can you come?"

"Hold on, please." He muted the connection with Mount Washington, as Jeff's face appeared in a screen to Virgil's left.

"Command and Control to Thunderbird Five. What's the emergency, Thunderbird Five?"

"A medical emergency at Mount Washington Observatory. I'm pulling up weather conditions now." Virgil pulled up the satellite weather maps for the region, and began to dictate the information that Jeff would need as he confirmed it with the caller. "My information tells me that you're in a blizzard warning area, your sustained winds are over 100 mph, gusting to 140 mph, your outside temperature is -5 Fahrenheit, and your visibility is less than 5 feet. Is this correct?"

"That's correct, International Rescue." The voice on the other end sounded half hopeful, half resigned. "Can you come?"

Virgil glanced over at the link to Command and Control. It was obvious that Jeff was discussing the situation with the other boys, though Virgil could hear nothing. Then the commander looked directly at Virgil and said, "Clarify what they want us to do. The weather is tricky, but we should be able to do this."

Turning back to the unseen caller, Virgil said, "We can assist. What do you need?"

There was a relieved sigh, then the caller began to explain what they had in mind.

"Thunderbird One can rendezvous at the hospital in..." Virgil checked Thunderbird One's speed and the distance involved. "Forty minutes. However, Thunderbird One won't be able to return your patient to the hospital. She doesn't have the capacity for that."

"Oh." The caller sounded as if he'd been pole-axed. "I suppose that will help..."

Virgil grinned. "However, Thunderbird Two will be one hour ten minutes behind Thunderbird One and will be able to transport the patient."

"Oh!" There was a world of relief in that single syllable. "That's great!" The voice then turned business-like. "What kind of landing area will you need?"

"We need no runway, but Thunderbird One might need a helipad-sized area, and someone to transport the doctor from there to your facility." Virgil pulled up a schematic of the observatory, its outbuildings, and parking area. "Do you have the equipment?"

"We do," the caller affirmed, hesitantly. "How big is Thunderbird One? We don't have a lot of flat space close to our buildings. I mean, we have parking lots, and they might work, but with visibility the way it is, it's dangerous to plow them. And there's no way anyone can hike up to where we are from the lots."

"Let me talk with my commander." Muting his mike to the caller again, Virgil now consulted with Jeff. "What do you think?"

"Are they sure there's no space for Thunderbird One near their building?" Jeff asked. "I thought they had an observation deck."

"They do, Dad, but from what I'm seeing, it's actually the roof of the building. No way could it take Thunderbird One's weight."

"Then I think we'll have to scratch Thunderbird One on this job, Virgil. Thunderbird Two can pick up the doctor, deliver him or her to the observatory, then return to the base of the mountain and wait until they're ready to transport the patient." Jeff pressed a switch. "Scott, we're scratching Thunderbird One. Head over to Two; John and Gordon are already on their way there." He looked up at Virgil. "I think this may be an 'all hands' rescue, so I'll pilot Two. Brains will hold down the fort."

"F-A-B. I'll let them know." Virgil returned to the caller. "International Rescue to Mt. Washington Observatory. Here's what we're going to do. Since Thunderbird One can't land close to you, you'll have to wait on Thunderbird Two. It will pick up the doctor in... North Conway, is it?"

"Yes, North Conway." The caller sounded disappointed.

"Thunderbird Two will deliver the doctor. The crew won't land, but will lower a rescue basket," Virgil said, thinking of how he would handle things if he were in the cockpit. "We'll get as close as we can with the basket, and will escort the doctor to your facility. We'll land somewhere else where the weather won't be quite as bad, and wait. When the doctor feels the patient is stabilized enough, just call us, and we'll be back."

"That'll work for us, International Rescue. We're going to contact the hospital in North Conway now."

"Acknowledged." Virgil muted his microphone and checked the link to the island again. Brains had taken over the command chair. A quick glance at the air-sea radar showed him that Thunderbird Two had just launched.

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Two." Scott's voice came over the speakers, and his picture appeared in a corner of a third screen. "I need coordinates to the hospital and to the observatory."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two." Virgil pulled up coordinates on another screen. "Downloading them now." While the information streamed its way to Thunderbird Two, he asked, conversationally, "Who's piloting?"

"Who else? The Commander. I'm just co-pilot on this trip."

"International Rescue?" The caller had come back. "We have an update for you."

Virgil turned his mike back on. "International Rescue here. Go ahead."

"Your contact at North Conway will be a Doctor Pauline Harrington. She is bringing equipment and a nurse along. Is that okay?"

"We can handle it. I'll relay the information to Thunderbird Two, which is already on its way to you.. Keep this frequency clear for any further updates."

"Thanks, International Rescue." His caller sounded relieved. "We really appreciate it."

Virgil grinned, and dropped his serious, formal tone. "Hey, it's what we do."

xxxx

Fermat peeled back his hat, setting his short hair into damp spikes. "Whew! It's c-cold out there!"

"Yeah, and we're going to have to go out in it again, I think. That is, if the dining hall is open." A.J. had already dropped his hat and gloves to the floor, and was unwinding his scarf. "Where should we put these wet things?"

"Hm." Fermat removed his own gloves and rubbed his numb, reddened nose, sniffing slightly. "Maybe over the shower c-curtain bar in the b-bathroom?"

"It'll have to wait, then," A.J. said, tugging on the ends of his jacket sleeves. "I want to get a hot shower after that."

"You w-won't want to go to the d-dining hall with your hair all wet." Pulling off his own coat, he grabbed a hanger from his closet, arranged the wet item on it, and hung them both up on the back of the bathroom door, over the laundry bags.

A.J. sat down to remove his boots. "Then, I might just snack on some of the stuff we have here. Unless you have a better idea."

"Well, d-doubt they'll d-deliver pizza in this w-weather," Fermat said with a snort of laughter. "I think you have the r-right idea."

A.J. stripped down to t-shirt and jeans, grabbed his pajamas and a towel, then headed into the bathroom. Fermat took another look outside; the darkness was complete, except for the fuzzy yellow globes of street light which looked as if they were being attacked by a huge swarm of tiny, blown-about feathers. The tree across the way was wanly lit near the bottom, but as the beleaguered light faded, the oak became an unrecognizable gray mass of swaying limbs. Above the strident whistle of the winds, Fermat could hear an eerie, tortured moaning and creaking. He shivered, and turned away.

Stripping down, he chose some fleecy sweatpants and a thick Wharton sweatshirt. Donning them and a pair of dry socks, he decided to tuck his still-chilled feet under his comforter and relax with a book while waiting for A.J. to finish his shower. The air around the bathroom door was fragrant and steamy, and Fermat figured that A.J. would dress in there instead of braving the cooler, dryer air of the bedroom area. Climbing under his covers, Fermat leaned on one elbow, facing the room, his pre-engineering textbook open to the light from above.

Outside, the weight of accumulated snow and ice on ancient, half-rotted branches began to take their toll. Assisted by the white, punishing winds, a once-solid trunk began to splinter, cracking and splitting. Twigs and thin branches fell as the tree shifted, bark folding, wood fracturing and coming apart in jagged pieces. It fell toward the dorm, shattering through shingles and trusses, brick wall and plaster ceilings.

Fermat had only a second to react, burying his face in his pillow, covering his head and neck with his arms as the world came crashing down around his ears.

_

* * *

How will the Thunderbirds handle this rescue? What has happened to Fermat and A.J.? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	75. Unreachable

_Author's note: _Fermat and A.J.'s predicament. Rescue on Mt. Washington. Alan gets antsy. Brains makes a call. Alan takes action. Thanks to Lillihafrue for for being a sounding board and for betareading. .

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy!

Tikatu

* * *

The splintering, crashing sound seemed to ring in Fermat's ears forever. He kept his arms tight to his head, eyes scrunched tight, waiting for debris to hit him. Surprisingly, there was little, but that didn't register with him at the time. A hollow boom, which shook his bunk, signaled an abrupt decrease in the noise levels, allowing him to hear his own hoarse screams. Gasping for breath, he coughed, throat filling with plaster dust. He finally pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth; his hacking lessened as the room quieted further. Breathing shallowly through his improvised mask, he lay curled onto his side until his ears stopped ringing. He was alive.

How long he lay there just breathing, he didn't know, but at last he opened his eyes, squinting behind dust-coated glasses. What he could see of the room was dark; his surroundings rendered into eerie shades of shadow and gray. Something sparked white and blue a few yards away; he could not make out what it was. He took a moment to clean his glasses with a corner of his bed sheet. The resulting clarity enabled him to see little more, though he thought he knew the source of the sparking. All around him an ominous, labored creaking sounded, and above that, the wind howled. What portion of that wind which spiraled down brought bitter cold and fat, wet snowflakes; it stirred the still-airborne dust. Instinctively, he pulled his blankets up further.

_The tree must have come down,_ he reasoned. _Right through the roof! And the ceiling! _He acknowledged this truth as if it were some dry, scientific fact, not letting the deeper, emotional reality take hold._ I need light. My book light should suffice._

Like many boys of his intellect, Fermat had the questionable habit of reading in bed, though most of his peers would find his choice of nocturnal reading to be rather dry. To facilitate this habit without disturbing his roommate, he employed a clip-on book light. _If I can just turn over and grab it..._ Gingerly, swallowing against the rawness of his throat, he began to roll onto his other side. As he moved, his upper arm scraped lightly against something solid that protruded from the upper bunk. Once both shoulders were firmly on his mattress, he shifted, then tried completing his motion. This time, he did more than graze whatever it was; he found it blocked his arm from moving beyond it. _Hm. Okay, let's try something else._

Easing back onto the mattress, he reached above his head, right hand groping clumsily along the shelf that made up part of the bunk's headboard. His fingers found the current book, then the light. Unclipping it, he thumbed it on, shining the thin beam on the obstruction.

"Agh!" A cry of surprise and fright tore from his lips as he found himself confronted by the jagged, ice-slicked end of a thick, cracked, and truncated branch.

xxxx

Alan had settled, dry-clothed and stocking-footed, into one of the sofas that were the main furnishings of the televid lounge. The place was half full; the channel was tuned to one of the local news stations. Weather, especially weather like they were now experiencing, was always of interest to the boys. Alan found it particularly fascinating. _It's like the winter version of a hurricane,_ he thought as he slid his interlaced fingers behind his head, and put his feet up on a large, square ottoman.

The televid, which had been blathering on about the snow accumulations, and warning everyone to stay home and off the streets, now changed. The anchorman, solemn-faced with gray touching his temples, intoned, "Now we turn to national correspondent, Lisa Lowe, who is covering a developing story involving the Thunderbirds."

The announcement caught the attention of everyone in the room, especially Alan, who sat up and leaned forward, his eyes eager. He glanced aside briefly when Dom settled down beside him. Nodding a quick greeting, he turned his rapt attention back to the screen.

"We're here in North Conway, New Hampshire, in one of the worst Nor'easters this region has seen for decades." Lisa Lowe's face was framed by a faux fur parka hood that ruffled in the fierce winds, and she looked cold. An occasional snowflake ended its frosty existence on the camera lens, adding distortion to her image. "Earlier tonight, a call came from the Mount Washington Observatory, telling doctors at the hospital here that one of their volunteers was suffering from what sounded like acute appendicitis. Mount Washington has the distinction of suffering from the world's worst weather, and this blizzard is hitting them harder than anyone else. National Guard helicopters would not be able to penetrate the horrific conditions at the summit, so the folks at the Observatory radioed the Thunderbirds." She glanced up at the sky as a roaring sound drowned out the audible whistle of the wind. "And here they are now!"

The growing audience burst into cheers and applause, just as the picture winked out. Lisa Lowe's voice, however, continued, as the screen shifted to a still shot of her. "I don't see any sign of Thunderbird One, but Thunderbird Two is settling down on a plowed and empty parking lot. The chassis is lifting from the pod. We would try to give you full coverage of this event, but unfortunately, we can't deploy our new Action Cam in this weather."

"Yeah," Alan muttered _sotto voce_. "Even if you could, we've got your number."

"Ah! There go the doctor and her assistants! Someone is meeting her at the pod ramp; it could be the commander himself!" She continued on, telling her listeners about the doctor, and what they hoped to do when they reached the summit.

"Wow! I wouldn't like to be in their shoes tonight," Dom said, turning to Alan. "Weather's worse there than here!"

"Uh-huh," Alan replied, absentmindedly. His concentration on the news story, however, was shattered by flashing red lights and the muted growl of a siren as they passed by the dorm windows.

xxxx

"I've got the doctor and her aides buttoned up in the med bay." Gordon pulled off his helmet as he entered the flight deck. "Whew! That wind is biting, and you can barely see three feet in front of your face. If the weather up there's as bad as it is down here..."

"From the data Virgil is giving us, it's going to be a lot worse," Jeff said, his tone grim. "John, make sure that Dr. Harrington can liaise with the Observatory. Use channel C."

"F-A-B." John leaned over and swiped his hand over a panel. "This is Thunderbird Two calling Mount Washington Observatory..."

"Scott, how's our ice situation?"

Scott consulted controls on the panels before him. "So far, the de-icing is keeping up, but just barely. The rime ice on the mountain will be a real problem."

Jeff just grunted his reply. "You strapped in back there, Gordon?"

Gordon had just finished settling into his seat. "F-A-B, Commander."

Jeff turned and nodded to his co-pilot. "Let's take her up, Scott."

Thunderbird Two rose slowly, majestically into the sky. On the ground, Lisa Lowe continued her commentary. Inside the cockpit, Jeff's hands gripped the controls tightly, trying to keep the green craft stable in the buffeting winds.

"John, talk to Virgil and see if he has any ideas about where to land this baby." Jeff didn't look over to give his orders. "If memory serves me, we won't be able to use any of the parking lot; they're too far away, and too dangerous to plow. We need to get close... really close."

"I'm checking the topography maps now, Commander." Virgil's voice came through on the loudspeaker. "Besides the parking lots, there's no flat area near the observatory big enough to handle Two."

"Do you have a schematic of the building?" John asked.

"Yeah. I've been going back and forth with the people up there. We're still trying to figure out what entrance is going to be best." Virgil's stifled sigh was still audible. "The entrances aren't covered with as much rime ice as they will be later, but they still have to chisel their way out."

Scott grunted. "So, we can't land nearby, and where we can land is too far away."

There was a moment of quiet in the cockpit, then Virgil cleared his throat. "I do have a suggestion."

"Let's hear it."

"It'll be tricky, but you could hover near whatever entrance we choose, lower the pod while still hovering, then pick the pod up after you deliver the doctor."

There was silence again while the command crew digested Virgil's idea. Gordon spoke first, his tone thoughtful. "Didn't the Spr..." Scott shot him a quelling look, making Gordon pause and clear his throat. "I mean, Alan. Didn't Alan do something like that when he launched Thunderbird Four over the Thames?"

"Yes, he did." Jeff said slowly, turning the idea over in his mind. "However, he had the advantage of being over open water. The backwash from Two's VTOLs was minimal. We're not going to have that advantage."

"That's right," Scott chimed in. "We'll be working against both that and the wind."

"Well," Gordon said, folding his arms. "Whatever you're gonna do, better figure it out soon." He nodded toward the viewscreen. The gray-white sides of Mt. Washington, studded with dark trees, was looming closer. "Looks like we're here."

xxxx

Getting his heartbeat and breathing under control once more, Fermat tried to relax. "O-Okay," he said aloud. "Let's think this through r-rationally. Like a Thunderbird." He moistened his dry lips with his tongue. "F-First, take s-stock."

He began to shine the light around. The branch that pointed squarely at his chest was sheathed near the base in tattered sheets, and the flat panel above him was cracked and splintered. The jagged end dripped moisture on his blankets as its icy coating melted. "M-Must have d-driven straight through the, uh, mattress," he murmured. He lifted his head and shoulders as far as the protruding branch would allow, and pointed the light in the direction of his feet. He couldn't see all the way down, but what was revealed made him breathe a strangled, "Oh God."

The far end of the upper bunk had collapsed, making his rectangular space into a triangular one. Plaster ceiling and shivered roof truss lay beneath the weight of a limb that was itself as big around as a tree. Fermat stared at it, one part of his mind numb with horror, and another automatically trying to calculate the pressures involved and figure out exactly why he wasn't a jelly smear sandwiched between the two bunks. Fighting down the urge to scream, he swallowed heavily, and remembered his training. "Like a Th-Thunderbird," he muttered as he played his light out into the room itself. The beam faded after only a yard or so, but it was enough to see his predicament.

Thick dust still lay on the air from the crushed plaster. The sparking was from the darkened and cracked light fixtures, now hanging lower than before, and reacting to the snowflakes that touched them. One wardrobe had fallen to the floor, pierced by a large branch; he couldn't see the other for the rent ceiling trusses and caved-in roofing materials. All around him were branches: thick, thin, broken, lichen and ice-covered, woven together in a thickly matted bramble. At least one hefty branch - Fermat guessed it to be as thick around as his thigh – slanted down into the floor beside his bunk, just at a point where it barred his ability to get out. Of his computer and desk, he could see nothing.

He lay back, tears springing to his eyes. _How am I gonna get out of here? The only thing keeping me alive is the headboard. If that collapses... _He angrily wiped the tears away._ There __**has**__ to be a way out. Think like a Thunderbird!_

The wind moaned and whistled. The tree creaked and groaned. But, as Fermat's hearing slowly became familiar with those noises, two new, urgent sounds rose above them. One was a hissing, dripping noise, like a jet of water spraying. The other was a near-scream of terror and despair.

"Fermat! Where are you? Oh, help me! Please! Please! Somebody help me! Fermat!"

Fermat's eyes widened, and he instinctively called back, "A.J.!"

xxxx

Alan reached up on his tiptoes, trying to look over the boys who had crowded around the windows. They'd pulled up the blinds, hoping to see what was going on. "Red and white," he murmured. "Emergency vehicles."

"Okay, guys. That's enough." The hall monitor, a senior by the name of Jake Forbestein, stepped into the room, his authoritative voice cutting over the general hubbub. "Please put down the blinds."

Those near the windows obeyed, and the monitor nodded his thanks. "If you don't have a roommate at the moment, come see me. We have a situation which means you'll have to take on someone temporarily."

"What's going on, Jake?" Dom asked.

Jake hesitated a moment, looking as he was thinking carefully about what he was about to say. "The school is evacuating Maplewood, and they want as many students in the other dorms as possible."

Something clicked inside Alan's head, the bits and pieces of his own knowledge coalescing into a horrifying and unimaginable whole. He jerked up, clenching his fists and demanding, "Why?" in a knife-sharp tone.

Startled, Jake glanced at Alan. "Why do you want to know?"

"My friend, Fermat, lives there."

Jake took a moment to consider his answer. Finally, he sighed. "You know that old oak tree in front of Maplewood?"

"It came down, didn't it?" Alan, still tensed, had paled, and his words were clipped. "It came down onto the dorm."

Jake nodded. "That's what I've been told." Sounds of consternation and surprise rose from the boys in the lounge. "The staff is trying to round everyone up and get a head count."

"I've got to go." Like a coiled spring, Alan moved, heading for his room. "I've got to help."

Jake followed him, protesting. He reached for Alan's shoulder, and spun him around. "You can't. The weather..."

"To hell with the weather. My friend is in there. I know it. I have to help him." Alan raised a fist. "Don't get in my way, Jake."

Holding his hands before him, palms outward, Jake backed off. "Alan, you don't know anything. And Mr. Magnuson is there; he'll just have someone haul you back here, or to his office. Let the professionals handle it."

Alan opened his mouth. "But I..." He paused. On the tip of his tongue were the words, "But I _am_ a professional." Something, maybe a half-remembered admonition from his father, stopped him. He changed his wording. "I'm going." He turned sharply on his heel, and ran squarely into Xavion. Qaeshon flanked his brother on the left, and a frowning John Carter stood at Zave's right. Jake, seeing that Zave had stepped in, began gathering the other boys together, looking for those without roommates.

Zave's face was impassive, and his arms were folded. "Pinky," he began, then his stance shifted a little, and his shoulders dropped. "Alan. I know you want to help. Hell, we all want to. But right now, we don't have enough information, and let's face it, we'd just get into the rescue crews' way. Let them do their job."

Shaking his head sharply, Alan ground out, "He's my friend."

Kay spoke up. "We know that. But we don't even know if he's there. He might have gone to dinner, or the snack shop, or somewhere else. Like Jake said, Mr. Mags is trying to round all the Maplewood guys up and figure out who is missing. At least give him time to do that."

Carter spoke up. "I don't know what room your friend is in, but for all we know, the tree might have missed it. It might not have done much damage."

"He's right, Alan." Kay nodded. "Until we find out more, we need to stay out of the way. I mean, wouldn't the Thunderbirds gather as much information as they could when they rescued someone?"

Alan's fist tightened. He knew what Kay said was true, though in reality it seemed they never had all the intel they needed, and sometimes they didn't have the _right_ intel that would make things easier from the start. But since he knew he couldn't tell his friend this, he found himself muttering, "I suppose you're right. I'm sure they wouldn't go in blind."

Zave relaxed a bit more. "So, you'll stay put? Wait until we have some solid word on Fermat's whereabouts?"

"And A.J.'s. Don't forget him," Kay added.

The color had returned to Alan's face, and now it flamed with chagrin. In his deep concern for Fermat, he _had_ forgotten A.J. His friends were still looking at him, waiting for his reply. Sighing, he nodded. "I'll wait... until we find out where he is."

Kat smiled, and clapped Alan on the shoulder. "Great! They're probably both at the dining hall or something anyway." He glanced over at the televid, which was still nattering on about the weather. "Hey! I heard that the Thunderbirds were called out tonight."

"Yeah. They were. A medical emergency at some mountain in New Hampshire."

"That doesn't tell me much. Let's see if they have anything more about the rescue." With that, Kay drew Alan back to the television.

"Thanks, Zave," Jake said, joining the two who were watching as Alan and Kay settled down on a sofa. "I was afraid he'd go haring off and get in the way."

"No problem, Jake." Zave gently bumped Jake's proffered fist with his own. "We'll keep an eye on him until we get word of Fermat and A.J."

"Have you been up to see the damage?"

Both John and Zave shook their heads. "I'm not going out in this weather again. I'm still warming up from the snowball fight," Carter said with a snort.

"Wimp," Zave said with a grin. "And you throw snowballs like a girl."

Something caught Jake's attention. "I gotta go. Looks like the first refugees are here." He started to the front door.

The two teammates looked at each other. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to ask the Maplewood guys a few questions," Zave said. "We probably won't get any information from anyone else at this point."

"Good idea." Carter made a face. "As for me, I have to do a little cleaning. Looks like I'm getting a new roommate."

xxxx

In Thunderbird Five, Virgil kept an eye on the weather and listened to the talk back as Thunderbird Two made its way to Mt. Washington's summit. He was feeling tense, a tension he didn't like, because he knew from experience that it wouldn't be relieved until the rescue was over. When in the midst of the action, the tension came and went, building when things got tough and easing with action. In his current position, all it did was build; there was nothing he could _do _to relieve it.

As Thunderbird Two made a slow reconnaissance of the observatory, Virgil was startled to hear a speaker to his left increase in volume. He listened intently for a moment, until the word "Wharton" was heard.

"Wonder when John did that," he mused.

"What was that, Thunderbird Five?" Jeff's sudden question startled him.

"Nothing important." Virgil continued to listen for a moment. "Hey, John. When did you set the speakers up here to automatically flag the word 'Wharton'?"

"A couple of weeks ago. With Alan in track, I wanted to catch any mention of his team." Virgil, who could see the inside of the cockpit, noticed John's shrug. "Why?"

"It's picking up some police and rescue scanner chatter." Listening intently, Virgil quickly jotted down a few notes on his tablet.

"Think Alan blew up another chem lab?" Gordon asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Gords, he's taking Biology this year," Scott retorted. "Can't blow up a biology lab."

Gordon grinned. "Could too, if you put your mind to it. I can think of a few ways."

Jeff ignored them both. "Anything we need to be concerned about, Virgil?"

Shaking his head, Virgil replied. "No, I don't think so. Sounds like a tree fell onto one of the buildings. They've got rescue units there, and are evacuating."

"Which building?" Gordon wanted to know.

"Not sure. Could be one of the dorms."

Jeff broke in. "It sounds to me like they have things under control down there. Alan and Fermat know not to go barging in." He paused, then added, "Still, keep me posted, Virgil. In this weather, things can go south pretty quickly."

"F-A-B, Commander."

"Now, men, let's get down to business here. Gordon, John, get the good doctor and her aides ready. This is going to be bumpy."

"F-A-B." The young men acknowledged their orders in near unison, and unfastened their restraints, heading to the medical bay.

"I need a reading on that wind, Thunderbird Five." Jeff glanced over at Scott. "Prepare the pod for drop."

Scott bent over his controls. "F-A-B."

In the pod, John and Gordon attached flexible woven belts to their passengers. They attached strong ropes to fastenings in the front and back of each belt, linking the five of them together. Dr. Harrington and her two nurses, one male and one female, stood in a tight cluster. "When the pod opens," Gordon explained. "I'll go out first and break a trail through the snow. The wind is really heavy and we'll be working against both it, and Thunderbird Two's backwash. You may find it hard to keep your feet, and that's why we're using the belts." He pointed to the male nurse. "You follow behind me, then the two ladies, and John will bring up the rear, to make sure everyone is okay."

"What happens when we reach the observatory?" Dr. Harrington asked.

"We'll unhook everyone," John said, hoisting a backpack full of medical supplies up and settling it on his shoulders. "The commander thinks it'll be easier for all of us if we stay here and not have to make the trip four times. So you'll have our assistance, too, should you need it."

"What about the Stokes basket?" The female nurse indicated the basket, which she had brought with her.

"I have one of our all-weather stretchers with us." Gordon indicated the pack on his back. "It's easier to maneuver, and will keep the patient warm and out of the wind on the return trip."

Scott's voice reverberated through the pod. "Are you ready down there?"

John indicated that they should grab a hand-hold. "F.A.B. Lower away."

The pod lowered slowly, coming to a stop about a meter over the snow pack. The door swung open, easing down and making a ramp that crunched through the hardened ice cover. Visibility was next to nothing; the wind outside blew the snow around, and the cloud cover that hovered over the summit created a thick fog all its own. "Okay! Let's go!" Gordon shouted. He jumped down into the knee-deep snow, and began moving slowly forward.

"Once they're all out and clear of the pod, withdraw it," Jeff said. He didn't look at his co-pilot; his attention was focused on his altitude and attitude readings, and his hands gripped the controls with white-knuckled strength.

"F.A.B," Scott murmured, not glancing up. His own attention was following the progress of five figures rendered in blue: infra-red images slowly making their way through the dozen yards or so of icy snow between the pod and the observatory garage.

"Okay. We're clear." John's voice, calm and determined, sounded out in the cockpit.

"F.A.B. Retracting pod."

Behind the rescue party, the pod door swung closed, the noise of its servos drowned out by the howling wind and the buffeting backwash from Thunderbird Two. The pod itself rose, becoming once again a near-seamless part of the Thunderbird's green belly.

"Pod is fully retracted," Scott intoned. He risked a glance at his father.

"Gordon, how far do you have to go?" Jeff kept his eyes on his readings.

"Almost there." Unlike John's, Gordon's voice was ragged with effort. He had chosen the point position with the idea that he was stronger and heftier than his older brother. But between the rime ice that was frosting his helmet, the winds battering him from all sides, and the effort of breaking through ice-encrusted snow, even this short trek was taxing his strength.

"I'm taking Two up now. You'll get along better without dealing with the backwash." Jeff let his grip change subtly, and with deliberate slowness, the green 'Bird rose. With her removal, the remainder of the party felt less battered, but a bitter cold swept around them in its place, as the VTOL's output had been warm.

By this time, however, the three medics were out of the wind and protected by the Observatory garage, with John joining them a few moments later. Then the garage door closed, and John's voice told them, "We're inside."

Jeff sat back, sounding relieved and upbeat as he replied, "F.A.B. Give us a call when you need a ride back."

"F.A.B.," Gordon responded. "But next time, John can be the ice breaker."

A snorted chuckle was Jeff reply as he lifted Two further into the sky, and set a course for the hospital parking lot.

xxxx

"A.J.!" Fermat shouted again, craning his neck toward the wall at his head. "C-Can you hear me?"

There was a lull in the cries, then, "Fermat! Thank God! What happened!"

"It seems the big o-oak tree came d-d-down! It s-smashed through the r-roof!"

Another pause, then a pleading cry. "Can you g-get out? Can you help m-m-me? It's d-dark and I'm f-freezing!"

Fermat's concern for his roommate blossomed into a full-blown fright. He could tell that A.J.'s newly acquired stutter was the result of chattering teeth. "Do I hear the w-water running?"

"Y-Yes! The w-water's just s-spewing out of the shower pipes! And it's c-cold!"

_Someone must have turned the power off or something._ "Try to find the sp-spigots and turn it off."

"I'll t-t-t-t-try!"

While he listened to the activity in the bathroom, Fermat inched toward the wall, away from the branch that threatened to impale him. He eased up onto his left side, facing out, pulling his blankets with him. He managed to keep a layer of blanket and sheet between his back and the wall, and dragged the edges as far up his body as he could. It made hearing a little difficult; his left ear was buried in his pillow. Still, he was filled with relief when the obvious hissing noise abated, and A.J. called out, "I t-t-turned it off!"

"G-Good!" Fermat took a deep breath, considering carefully his next instruction. "Now, tell me: what are you w-wearing?"

"What d-d-d-d-do you think? I was in the sh-shower!"

Fermat resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, okay! I g-get it! Can you f-find any towels? The b-bath mat? Can you put your h-h-hands on a bag of dirty clothes?"

"I h-have a t-t-t-towel, but it's wet! And d-d-d-dirty clothes? Eww!"

This time Fermat didn't resist; he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You need to find something d-dry. Dry clothes will help k-keep you warm. You d-don't have the luxury of c-clean ones."

"O-Okay. I'll f-f-feel around." There was a long pause, then A.J. shouted, almost conversationally, "D-D-Did you know that it's sn-sn-snowing in here?"

"It's snowing out h-here, too," Fermat replied. And it was; in the narrow beam of Fermat's book light, the more snow seemed to be reaching his level. It had begun to blanket the piles of shattered plaster.

"Ow!" A.J.'s exclamation of pain brought Fermat's heart to his throat.

"What h-happened?"

"I j-j-jabbed my hand on s-something." Now, in addition to the chattering teeth was an underlying sob of pain. "Ow!"

Fermat gasped, "What h-happened?"

"I b-b-b-bumped my head on s-s-s-s-something!" There was a pause, then, the pain in his voice replaced by awe, A.J. added, "That's a b-b-b-big branch!"

"Did you jab your h-h-hand on that?" Fermat felt frustrated by A.J.'s commentary. _If only I could _see_ what's going on!_

"I dunno! I can b-b-b-b-barely s-s-s-see in here! I'm not exactly w-w-w-walking around, you know!" A.J. stopped talking again, but his voice had a note of triumph in it as he cried, "F-F-Found my robe! And it's d-d-d-dry!"

"Put it on!" Fermat urged. "But k-keep looking for m-more clothes. The more layers you wear the b-b-better!"

"Right!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Fermat let his body relax a little. He turned off his light, and drew his covers closer. _I hope someone gets to us before we both freeze to death._

xxxx

He didn't know why he was so fidgety, but Brains found himself pacing the floor of Command and Control with more than his usual vigor. He had been listening in to the rescue, ready to add any bit of knowledge or wisdom he could, but so far, it seemed that the rescue crew had everything under control.

_Under control. That's what Jeff said about the situation at Wharton. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check in with Fermat._

He pulled out his phone, and speed-dialed a number that he knew by heart anyway. The phone rang three times, then Fermat's recorded voice said, "I'm s-sorry I missed your c-call. Please leave a m-message, and I'll call you b-back soon."

Brains frowned, then shrugged. He glanced at the clock. _Maybe he's eating or at the game room. Still, he usually has his phone on him..._

"It's m-me, son. C-Call back when you can. I really want to hear your v-v-voice."

He paced some more, promising himself he would wait a little before calling again. By this time, Jeff and Scott were heading for the hospital parking lot, leaving John and Gordon with the medical team. Everything sounded like it was going smoothly, and Brains opened his phone again to call.

Again, the voice mail message sounded, but this time, Brains didn't leave a message. Instead, he hung up, and speed-dialed another number that he didn't know quite so well.

The phone rang twice before Alan responded. "Hey, Brains. What's up?"

"H-Hello, Alan. Is my son with you?"

Alan had returned to his room since the news on the rescue hadn't changed for a while. He shook his head, then remembered that he had voice only. "No, he's not Brains, and frankly, I'm worried."

This comment took Brains by surprise. "Why is th-that?"

Alan's sigh was heavy enough that Brains imagined he felt it in his ear. "Well, a big old tree has fallen on Maplewood..."

"M-M-Maplewood!" Brains went pale and dropped like a stone into Jeff's chair. "V-Virgil said there was some rescue ch-chatter about Wharton but he said n-nothing about Maplewood!"

Alan dropped into his own chair. "What did he hear?"

Brains shook his head this time. "I don't know exactly. J-Just that there was ch-chatter and they seemed to have things under c-c-control."

"Damn. I need to know." Alan sounded as frustrated as Brains felt. "But no one is telling me anything!"

"What do you kn-know so far?" Brains asked.

Alan explained what he'd heard, and how the building had been evacuated. "But there's been no news since then."

"Hm." Brains fingered his chin, then pushed his glasses back up his thin nose. "The w-weather is pretty bad there, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Everyone says we should stay inside." Alan swallowed slightly. "But we really need to know, don't we, Brains?"

Brains was taken aback by Alan's unspoken offer. He shook his head, knowing how upset Jeff would be if Alan was injured. "We d-do, but not if it's dangerous for you, A-Alan. You st-stay put and I'll c-call the school. See if they'll t-tell me anything. I'll t-talk to Virgil, too. See if he has more n-news."

Alan tried to hide his disappointment. "If that's what you want, Brains."

"It i-is." Brains's tone was firm, and he felt he'd gotten his point across.

"Call me with any news?"

"Of c-course."

Deciding to change the subject, Alan asked, "How are things in New Hampshire? I know what they're doing and where, but nothing more than that."

Brains felt relieved; he'd successfully diverted Alan's attention. "J-John and Gordon are at the job site. Your father and S-Scott are resting at the moment, and we're w-waiting for w-word from on high to finish the job."

Alan thought this through and realized what Brains was leaving unsaid. "So, everyone went?"

"Y-Yes. Your f-father thought it wise to have m-many hands along." Brains was digging up the school's phone numbers so he would have as many of them handy as possible when he finished with Alan.

"Tell him to call when they get home, please?" Alan, still in his stocking feet, stood and grabbed his boots, then went back to his chair to put them on. "Even if he has to leave a voice mail."

"I w-will." Brains now had his ducks in a row: phone numbers, pad of paper, and sharpened pencil, which he tucked behind his ear. "I'd b-better go. They'll be called any m-minute. You st-stay warm now."

Alan tucked his phone between ear and shoulder. "I will, Brains. I'll call if I get any news of Fermat."

"Th-Thanks, Alan, but I'm s-sure the school will tell me what I w-want to know."

"Right. Goodbye, Brains."

"G-Goodbye."

Brains ended the call, and started dialing, then paused. "How d-do I explain h-how I heard? Hm. I better th-think through what to tell them."

Alan tossed his phone on his desk and finished lacing up his still-damp boots. He wrapped his scarf loosely around his neck, and put on his warm jacket again. Tucking his hat and gloves, which were dry and warm from the heater, into a pocket, he slid open his door poked his head out into the hallway. It wasn't exactly deserted, but no one seemed especially interested in him. He stepped out, striding briskly away from the TV room and the front doors. _I'll use the doors at the end of the hall; it'll make a longer walk, but fewer people will see me._

He pushed through the doors into the stairwell, and paused. The snow still swirled in the wind, dancing in the light above the door. The night beyond looked dark gray instead of black; the new fallen snow reflecting its color to the sullen clouds above. It also reflected the weak strobe of red and white lights from the far end of the quad.

Alan put on his hat, settling it low over his ears. He slipped on his gloves, flexing his fingers. Pulling his scarf up over his mouth and nose, he took a deep breath. "I'm coming, Fermat," he murmured, and stepped out into the blizzard.

_

* * *

What will Alan do? What's going to happen to Fermat and A.J.? Will IR get involved? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	76. Unfolding Emergency

_Author's note: _Alan meets up with someone unexpected, and comes up with a solution. Fermat and A.J. battle the cold. Virgil gets frustrated. Brains is worried. The rescue is stalled. Thanks to Lillihafrue and Susanmartha for betareading. I've cut the chapter here, as per Susanmartha's suggestion. Chapter 77 soon to follow.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to a C2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy!

Tikatu

* * *

The wind bit right through Alan's jacket and scarf, and the snow was so thick he had to shield his eyes to see. _I wish I'd worn another layer or two!_ he thought as he plodded toward the flashing lights. As he got closer, he could see that Maplewood was lit from without with the brightest halogen spotlights he'd ever seen. They illumined the huge oak tree, dark and wet and covered with a layer of snow. Because of the quad's other trees, and the emergency vehicles, Alan couldn't quite see just where the tree's upper trunk had landed, and there was a sound that he couldn't identify at first. When he reached the first of the lights, he recognized it: the roar and squeal of several chainsaws.

There was an ambulance parked in the space between Oakwood and Maplewood, a certain draw to the boys who were braving the storm out of curiosity. Mr. Magnuson and one of his men were on patrol there, talking to the rubbernecking students, and sending them back to their dorms. _I don't want them to see me; they'll just send me back. But I have to get to that ambulance and find out if Fermat's there. Maybe if I go around Oakwood, I can get to it without being seen._

With that, he turned back the way he'd come. Between Oakwood and his own dorm, he found footprints, half filled with snow, and other marks that indicated others had tried his trick before him. He sighed, and continued on, the wind swirling around him somewhat lessened, but the snow falling just as hard as before. They both hit with full force again as he emerged from between the dorms. The light over here was dimmer; it seemed that the safety lights weren't coping well with the thick snow. Alan kept his eyes to the ground as he plodded along, following in both the footsteps and the faint tire tracks that had been laid down before him.

Finally, he turned the corner again, and was looking at the ambulance. Instead of following his fellow students, who had bypassed the emergency vehicle to get a better view of Maplewood, he sidled up to it. The back door was shut against the wind and cold, and he stood on tiptoes to see who might be inside.

He could see no patient inside, though there was an EMT present, preparing for whoever might be brought to him. He edged around to the far side of the truck, then quickly ducked back as a group of firefighters and EMTs emerged from Maplewood's side door. They were carrying a Stokes basket with a patient almost mummified by layers of blankets.

"Quick now. Let's get him out of the snow," someone barked. Alan peeked around the corner and watched as, with quick yet deliberate care, the rescuers moved their patient down to the rear of the ambulance. Flattening himself against the side, Alan tried to glimpse who the patient was, but the now-open doors got in the way.

A voice called from behind him. "Hey, you! Kid! What are you doing?"

Alan stiffened for a moment, glancing at the owner of the voice – which, even distorted by snow and wind, sounded vaguely familiar. He squelched the urge to flee, but did not relax. The person who had caught him, a woman, advanced. At first, Alan couldn't see her face, even in the diffused light from the work area and the strobing flashers on top of the ambulance. But as she got close, he squinted to see her frowning face more clearly. The makeup was gone, leaving behind a pair of less striking eyes, thinner lips, and a washed-out complexion now ruddy by the cold, but Alan thought he knew her anyway.

"Sable?"

The woman - who was indeed Sable de la Croix - rolled her eyes. "Figures it would be you, Blondie. What the hell are you doing here?"

"My friend... um... Specs, he lives in Maplewood. Third floor. I haven't heard from him, and his dad... his dad called me because he can't reach him either. I don't know where the tree hit, but I've got to know if he's up there."

Someone came around from behind the ambulance, calling, "Amy! We're ready to roll!" and stopped as he saw Alan and Sable together. "Amy? What's this?"

Sable/Amy grabbed Alan's sleeve. "Don't worry, Jack. He's just a student here. I've got it covered. I'll take him over to Mr. Mags right now."

"You do that, and be quick about it. We're ready to roll."

"Right!" With a sharp tug, she tried to get Alan to follow her.

"Who's in there?" Alan asked, holding his ground and hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Sable/Amy threw him an irritated look, and blew out a frustrated breath. "You know that tall Indian kid? The cute, smart one?"

"Devdan Israni?"

"That's him. Now, c'mon. I don't have all night, and Mr. Mags will probably know where Specs is."

She tugged on his sleeve again, and this time, Alan followed her, moving as quickly as the accumulated snow would allow.

"Mr. Magnuson!" At her shout, the security chief turned. He'd been in deep conversation with a firefighter who looked to be in charge of the rescue operation. When he saw who Sable was bringing to him, he turned to his colleague, asking him to wait, then strode forcefully over to meet them.

"Thanks, Amy. I'll take it from here." Mr. Magnuson didn't merely take Alan's sleeve; he grabbed the teen firmly by the arm. Sable nodded briefly and hurried back to the ambulance, hopping in on the driver's side. The engine, which had been quietly purring, now revved a bit. Headlights came on, and it cautiously backed out of its parking place, siren wailing.

As soon as it pulled away, Mr. Magnuson turned his attention to Alan. "Now, what the devil are you doing out here, Alan Tracy? This is a dangerous situation, and you should be inside!"

"I'm looking for Fermat, sir." Alan waved his free arm. His words tumbled out one on top of another. "His father tried to call him and he didn't answer and he lives on the third floor..." Mr. Magnuson's eyes flicked upward toward the dorm, and Alan's gaze followed them. He drew in a sharp, hissing breath, and whispered, "He's up there, isn't he?"

The tree's massive lower trunk blocked the drive. Its hefty lowest branches either were shattered on the cement sidewalk and front steps, or had shattered them into chunks. Upper branches had pierced windows and/or walls on all three floors, and the upper part of the trunk, still thick around as Mr. Magnuson's waist, seemed to be resting between two rooms on the third floor. One of those rooms was Fermat's. As he watched, a thick lower branch, one that had been pointing at the thick, dark gray clouds, fell to the snow, cut by a firefighter wielding a buzzing chainsaw.

"We don't know for sure, Alan." Mr. Magnuson's voice was grave, with a touch of sympathy. "We haven't found him anywhere on campus yet, and, as you've said, he's not answering his phone. We have to go slowly in cutting the tree. It's been difficult to get ladders and lifts in there to cut. Too many men climbing on it will increase the weight, and might endanger those beneath it. We have people inside cutting away at the branches, but it's pretty tangled. We're trying to figure out how to pull the whole tree off at once." He caught Alan's gaze, bringing it back from the rescue scene. "Now, you know as much as we know, and you've seen what there is to be seen. Please, go back to your dorm and wait. Get warm and dry. I'll deal with Fermat's father. I don't need to be worrying about you as well."

Alan swallowed heavily, and looked away. He felt tears prick at his eyes, tears of both frustration and fear. He wanted so badly to run up there, calling for Fermat, and doing whatever it took to rescue his friend. _But I'm not a Thunderbird here! I'm just another student, a nobody. I can't even find out if he's up there._

Mr. Magnuson's tone was kindly now. "Alan, please go back to the dorms. I'll let you know when we find Fermat." He chuckled. "Seems like if one of you isn't in trouble, the other one is. And whoever isn't wants to run to the rescue."

Head down, Alan nodded. He put his hands, gloves and all, into his coat pocket, and turned to leave. But his left hand caught on the pocket's outer edge, and he pulled it out to see what was causing the problem.

It was his watch. Alan stared at it for a long moment. Visions of the attack and Qaeshon, with Fermat calling for back up, of the tense, whispering moments with Gordon and Fermat as he tried to avoid Sugi, and suddenly, something fell into place.

He turned. "Mr. Mags, sir!"

"Alan?" The tone was a warning one.

"I think I can reach Fermat!" Alan held out his left arm, the watch bared.

Mr. Magnuson squinted through the snow, then hurried to Alan's side. His face, a half-frown, cleared, and his snow-spangled eyebrows went up in surprise. "My God, Alan. I think you may have something here! C'mon; let's get you out of the snow so you can use that thing."

xxxx

"Are you w-warmer now, A.J.?" Fermat huddled down further into his blankets. His nose was cold and dripping, and between the congestion, the muffling fabric, and the ambient creaking and groaning, he wasn't sure his roommate had heard him.

"Y-Yeah, I g-guess so." The stutter caused by A.J.'s chattering teeth was a welcome sound. Fermat had managed to coax A.J. into wearing layers of whatever dry clothes he could find, clean or not. This included a number of Fermat's clothes, spilled from the laundry bag. Then he'd gotten his friend to climb back into the now-drained tub and curl up. He reasoned that the one-piece tub and shower stall might be strong enough to keep the tree from falling any further into the bathroom.

"Are you o-okay?" A.J. asked.

Fermat sniffed hard before answering. "Yeah, I'm o-okay." It was a partial truth; he was feeling the effects of the cold despite his thick comforter and his attempts at curling up. "W-We need to keep t-talking; it will k-keep us awake."

"How c-c-could we sleep?" A.J. paused, then asked, "I'm s-s-s-scared, Fermat."

"I know. S-So am I."

"Are we g-g-gonna die?"

"N-No!" The reply was out of his mouth before Fermat could think. "I'm sure that p-people are trying to g-get to us. I heard a chainsaw o-outside." This was partially true; he had thought he'd heard one but between the tree's groaning and the wind's howl, it was hard to tell. "We n-need to stay awake so we'll be ready when they g-get to us. You hear me? St-Stay awake."

"O-Okay, Fermat. I'll t-t-try."

With that answer, Fermat huffed out a sigh. _This is one time I wish the Thunderbirds were here._

xxxx

Virgil's eyes flicked from screen to screen, viewing and listening to Thunderbird Two, the danger zone, and the command center on the island. He noticed Brains was pacing, deep worry etched on his thin face. _What's got him all fidgety? This rescue's going pretty well. Could it be the Wharton situation? I think I'll ask._

"Command and Control from Thunderbird Five."

Brains looked startled at Virgil's voice, but he stopped his pacing and settled down before the main screen. "C-C-Command and Control here. G-Go ahead, Thunderbird F-Five."

"I noticed that you're kinda on edge, Brains. Don't know if you realize it, but you're pacing. A lot." Virgil paused, considering his next words. "The rescue seems to be going fine. Dad and Scott are on the ground waiting to be called back. So, what's up? Anything I can do to help?"

"Pacing?" Brains frowned slightly. "Oh. I g-guess I was. S-s-sorry about that, V-Virgil. Didn't know I was d-doing it."

"No problem, Brains. I thought you weren't noticing." Virgil gave him an encouraging smile. "So, I ask again: anything I can do to help?"

"C-Can you pipe the Wh-Wharton chatter down here?" Brains asked, still frowning. "I'd like to k-keep abreast of the s-s-s-situation."

"Why? Is something wrong?" Virgil began to get a prickling feeling at the back of his neck. He hadn't actually been listening to the Wharton comm chatter, but he had been hearing it in the background, and somehow, something wasn't adding up.

"I c-can't reach F-F-F... my son. He's not a-answering his phone." Brains shook his head. "I'm s-sure there's a p-perfectly logical and simple r-reason for it. The storm could be i-interfering with the s-signal; he could be d-doing something i-important..."

Virgil glanced at the Earth, spinning slowly far below him. "He could be in bed."

"Th-That, too." Brains sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I'm b-being a w-worrywart."

"Well, there's a cure for that." Virgil forced a cheerful voice. "I'll pipe the chatter down to you and you can hear for yourself."

Brains smiled slightly. "Th-Thank you, V-Virgil. I appreciate it."

Virgil slid the rolling chair over to the speaker controls. "Here you go." He pressed a couple of buttons, and the computer told him that the emergency channel feed for Wharton was now transmitting to the island base. He listened to the chatter for a bit, not knowing what was making him uneasy, then turned away so he could report to his father.

He stopped in his tracks when a new, familiar voice cut in.

"Alan to Fermat. Alan to Fermat. C'mon, Fermat. Answer me."

xxxx

"Why is this taking so long?" Scott groused. He looked up as his father offered him a mug of steaming coffee. Accepting it, he murmured, "Thanks, Dad." After a sip, he added, "You'd think it'd be easy to get one man ready for transport."

"We haven't been waiting as long as you think, son." Jeff settled back into the pilot's seat, sipping from his own travel mug. "Patience. They'll call us when they're ready."

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird Five." Virgil's voice, tense and clipped, sounded through the cockpit.

Jeff settled his coffee into a cup holder and replied. "Thunderbird Two here. Go ahead."

Virgil's face appeared on screen. "Alan is trying to call Fermat. I expect he's using that watch communicator. Is there anything I should do about it?"

A frown creased Jeff's forehead, drawing his eyebrows together. "Alan knows that he's only supposed to use that in an emergency."

"It might be one." Virgil turned his head slightly, listening to the Wharton comm chatter. "Brains says that Fermat's not answering his phone, and the emergency services talk-back from Wharton says the tree fell on Maplewood dorm. The impression I'm getting is that they're having trouble getting the thing off the building."

"But it's just a tree," Scott said, shaking his head. "What damage could it do?"

"Have you taken notice of the trees in the quadrangle across from the dorms?" Jeff's frown was now a look of concern. "They're old. Very old. Huge things. Likely not very healthy either. If one of those fell due to this storm..."

The three Tracys fell silent, each contemplating the import of Jeff's words. Suddenly, Virgil whipped his head around. "Hey! It sounds as if... yeah! Fermat's answering."

"Let's hear it, Virgil," Jeff said, folding his arms across his chest.

"F-A-B." Virgil reached over to touch a few keys. He paused, his hand suspended over the keyboard. "Should I transmit this to base, too? They're listening to the comm chatter already."

Jeff huffed out a breath. "Yes. Go ahead. Brains will be less worried if he can hear Fermat's voice for himself."

"F-A-B." His hands dancing over the keyboard, Virgil took a moment to warn Brains about what he was going to do. Then the sound of Alan's voice came through their speakers.

xxxx

To say that Fermat was surprised by the sharp vibration of his wristwatch was an understatement. He let out a loud yelp, one that made A.J. call out.

"You o-o-okay, F-Fermat?"

"Y-Yeah! M-More than okay! Alan's c-calling me!" Fermat fumbled with the buttons on the watch's side, his cold fingers stiff and numb. Finally, he got the right one.

"...Fermat. Answer me!"

"Alan!" The glowing screen showed a close up of Alan's face, and Fermat couldn't help but notice his friend let out a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm h-h-here!"

"Where is here, Brain?" Outside, perched in the front seat of a fire truck, Alan's heart leapt with hope. Fermat's face was colored a pale gray where the screen's light hit it; sharp, dark slashes showed where he'd sustained scratches. To Alan, it was the best view he'd ever had. "Talk to me, buddy!"

"I'm in my r-r-room, on my b-bunk." Fermat paused long enough to gather his thoughts and figure out what was the most vital information for Alan to have. "A t-t-tree came through the roof and p-pierced the bed above me. I'm p-pretty much trapped, though I have a l-little room to maneuver, but it's d-d-dark and cold and I'm a-a-a-a... scared the tree will come down f-further."

"It pierced your bunk?" Mr. Magnuson moved Alan's arm so he could see Fermat for himself. "Where's your roommate, Andrew? Is he there? Is he safe?"

"He was t-t-taking a shower when the t-t-tree came d-d-down." Fermat's habitual stutter was being augmented by his now-chattering teeth. "He's stuck in the b-b-b-bathroom. I m-m-made him put on any d-d-dry clothes he could f-f-f-f... round up, and sit in the t-tub. Thought the w-w-walls might p-p-protect him."

"Good thinking, Fermat." Mr. Magnuson nodded in approval. "You and Andrew sit tight and do everything you can to stay awake. We're working on our end to get you two out."

"Y-Y-Yes, s-sir." Fermat hunched down further in his blankets.

Mr. Mags turned to Alan. "Alan, your job is an important one right now. You're our link to Fermat and Andrew; you need to keep them talking, and if something happens, alert us right away." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Can you do that?"

Alan swallowed his, "F-A-B", and replied, "I sure can, Mr. Mags."

"Good." The security chief nodded firmly. "I'm going to talk with the man in charge here. We're trying to get the National Guard out to pull that tree off. I need to see if he's made any progress." He put up the collar on his heavy coat, and zipped it up to his chin. "Be back soon" With that parting word, he slipped out into the storm, letting a cold blast of air in before the door shut snugly behind him.

"Fermat, I'm alone now. I'm going to see if I can get Virgil to patch us through to my Dad, okay? You keep talking to A.J., and whatever you do, stay awake!"

"F-F-F-A-B-B-B," Fermat said, his teeth sounding like rat-a-tat between stuttered syllables.

Alan fumbled with the watch buttons again, then ripped off the offending glove and stuffed it in his pocket. Pitching his voice low and soft, he called, "Thunderbird Five from Wharton. Come in, Thunderbird Five."

_

* * *

Will Alan get through to Jeff? Can the National Guard help? Will Fermat and A.J. be rescued in time? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	77. Unfavorable Odds

_Author's note: _Virgil has words with Alan. Alan and Fermat play a guessing game. Onaha and Tin-Tin weigh in. Brains gets some bad news. Jeff and Scott go into action. Alan has another idea. Virgil gets an emergency call. Jeff makes a tough call. Fermat and A.J.'s point-of-view. Thanks to Lillehafrue and Susanmartha for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to a C2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy!

Tikatu

* * *

"Alan's calling me, Dad. I'm not sure just how to handle it." Virgil sounded both frustrated and worried. "I mean, John hasn't had time to go over all the protocols with me."

"Just answer him using the tri-channel, Virgil," Jeff said. "Let him know we're listening in, but we have a rescue going on."

"F-A-B." Virgil flipped a couple of switches, and replied in a soft voice. "Wharton from Thunderbird Five. We read you. You are tied in with Base and Thunderbird One, but there is an on-going rescue, and they cannot respond."

Virgil's picture, Thunderbird Five's interior in the background, replaced Fermat's for a moment, and Alan started. "Uh, Thunderbird Five, can I get that visual back? Not that I don't like your face or anything..."

Fighting hard not to roll his eyes and respond in a less than professional way, Virgil sighed. He was only partially successful; his tone turned just a touch snarky as he explained. "I can only do one vid feed at a time, Wharton. Your screen is too small to split. But I have both you and Fermat on my screens here – there's been no change on his end that I can see. I'll return you momentarily to your regularly scheduled show, already in progress."

"Acknowledged, Thunderbird Five." Alan's own frustration was hidden under a veneer of professional attitude. "I wanted to make sure that the Commander on Thunderbird One and Command and Control were plugged in. I take it that... uh..." His mind floundered for some sort of code name for Brains, and came up empty. "...Brains is at Command?"

"He is. He's listening, and if necessary, I'll switch him in to Fermat's watch." Virgil glanced at Fermat, and tuned in a little to the Wharton chatter before adding. "You have a job to do, Wharton. I think you should get back to it." With that, he switched the screen on Alan's watch to Fermat's channel.

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One." Jeff's voice, level with a hint of disapproval, sounded out.

"Thunderbird Five here, Thunderbird One." Virgil was already rubbing the back of his head and looking sheepish. "I know I was less than professional back there, Commander. It won't happen again."

"As long as you know that, I won't lecture, especially since we're on a rescue. But you will apologize at the first opportunity." Jeff's tone brooked no argument.

"F-A-B, Commander."

In the fire truck's cab, Alan was relieved to see Fermat's face again. "Hey, Fermat. You'll never guess who I met while trying to get out here to Maplewood. I didn't recognize them at first, though their voice sounded familiar."

Fermat shivered some more, but put his mind to work on Alan's comment. "W-Well, there aren't m-m-many p-p-people that you kn-know who might be at Wh-Wh-Wharton at this time of n-n-n-ight. And I d-d-doubt they're l-l-letting the s-s-students near the s-s-site, so it c-c-c-can't be one of u-us-s-s." He thought some more. "It's p-p-probably s-s-s-someone who b-b-belongs here, but is d-d-dressed d-differently than they d-d-do ordinarily." He paused, then said, "M-Ms. B-Belvedere?"

Alan's eyes widened in momentary shock, then he let out a long peal of laughter.

"Wh-What's so f-f-funny about th-that?" Fermat asked irritably. "I'm s-s-sure she would be... h-h-h... h-achoo! Hard to r-r-r-recognize under a p-p-p-parka." He lifted a corner of his sheet to wipe his streaming nose, and curled up some more.

"What's g-g-g-going on out th-th-there?" Andrew asked, his voice high and querulous.

"A-A-Alan thinks he can st-st-stump me with a b-b-b-brain teaser!" Fermat called back. He relayed the information that Alan had given him, along with his own observations and conclusion.

"I'm sorry, Brain!" Alan wiped his eyes. It felt good to let go a little, even better to let go in laughter. "Your reasoning is right, and you have the person's gender right, too. But no, I haven't seen the dragon tonight."

"O-Okay. Let me g-g-g-give A.J. an up-p-pdate." Hollering over the noise around him, Fermat told his roommate what Alan had told him.

"Th-That's a n-n-n-no b-brainer, F-F-Fermat," A.J. replied after a moment's thought. "It has to b-b-be S-Sable. She'd b-b-b-be hard t-t-to recognize without all her m-m-make-up."

Fermat groaned. "A.J. says it's S-S-Sable."

"Ding, ding, ding! Give the man a Kewpie doll!" Alan styled his voice to match the fairgrounds barkers he'd seen in movies; he'd only been to a big fair once, and he was too small to remember much. He returned to his regular voice to ask, "And do you know what she was doing?"

"What w-w-w-was she d-d-doing here?" A.J. asked at the very same time.

"W-W-Washing dishes!" Fermat shouted, scowling at Alan.

"R-R-Really?" A.J. asked, sounding puzzled.

"Hey, Brain," Alan replied, his voice softening and his face taking on a concerned expression. "I'm only trying to keep your mind off things. Yours and A.J.'s, too. No need to snap."

"Alan, I'm s-s-s-scared, and s-s-s-so c-c-cold." Fermat's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"I know, pal, I know. But we're doing our best out here." Alan's gaze shifted to the work scene, where another branch fell to earth, severed by the hard work of a safety-yellow-clad firefighter. "We'll get you out of there; I promise." He paused, then added, "I bet you don't know what Sable's real name is."

"Amy. Amy S-S-Sue P-Pederson. Z-Z-Zave told us, r-r-remember?"

"Dang. You're right. I'd forgotten that. But you still haven't figured out what she was doing here."

Fermat sighed, and shouted, "Hey, A.J-J-J.! Have you f-f-f-f-figured out what S-S-Sable was doing here?"

"I thought you s-s-s-said it was dishes!"

Alan chuckled, but it was a surface attempt at humor. Deep inside, his gut was twisting with ever-growing worry. _Gotta keep these two awake. What other brain teasers can I come up with?_

xxxx

Onaha came into Command and Control carrying a tray with sandwiches. His mind having been with the Tracys in New Hampshire, Brains was surprised for the reminder of what time of day it was where his body sat. "Th-Thank you, Onaha," he said as he picked up a sandwich. "I'd f-f-forgotten I was h-hungry."

"How are things going?" she asked.

"The r-rescue is a w-wait and see thing right now," Brains admitted. "I think they will b-be called b-back to the m-mountain again s-s-soon. But Wharton..."

"What's happening at Wharton?" Tin-Tin was following with a pitcher of iced tea. She put it down carefully on one of the side desks, and poured a glass full for Brains.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then reached up to adjust his glasses. "It seems that this st-st-st-...blizzard has uprooted a t-t-tree, and it has fallen on my son's d-d-dormitory... right on his r-r-r-room."

Both women gasped, eyes widened in horror. Onaha walked over to put a comforting hand on Brains's thin shoulder.

"Is Fermat okay?" Tin-Tin asked, sitting down suddenly. The news was like a punch to her gut, as bad as hearing of Alan's beating.

"I'm sure he must be, Tin-Tin," Onaha said. "Brains would have been long gone to the States if Fermat was hurt."

Brains shook his head. "A-Actually, the situation is d-d-dangerous. He and his r-r-roommate are trapped in their room by the t-t-t... oak. It seems to have s-smashed through the roof, and there is the very r-r-real possibility of h-hypothermia. Alan is in c-contact with F-F-Fermat and his r-r-roommate by using the new watch communicators. Virgil has p-p-piped their c-conversation down here." He settled back in a chair and made a sour face. "I, on the o-other hand, have h-heard n-nothing from the school."

"They're probably waiting until they can get the boys out before calling parents," Onaha said, looking thoughtful. "Why don't you give them a call? You can say you've been trying to reach Fermat and would like to know where he is."

"I s-s-suppose I should," Brains said, scowling. "I'm sure they'd j-just p-put me off. I'll h-have to think of a w-w-way to do this w-without making them s-suspect that I already kn-know."

"Maybe if you call Alan again?" Tin-Tin had risen and was checking the various displays. "He could hand you over to whoever is in charge. Then you can at least say you were contacted when you fly out there." She glanced over to meet Brains's gaze. "I could take over command and control so you could go..."

They were interrupted by Virgil's voice. "Command and Control from Thunderbird Five."

Brains reached out to acknowledge the call. "Ah... C-Command here, Thunderbird Five. We read you."

"Just thought you'd want to know that the governor of Massachusetts has declared a state of emergency for the western part of the state," Virgil said. "The airports out there are closed to all but emergency traffic and the National Guard has been activated." He picked up a data pad. "According to the latest weather predictions, the area is going to get well over a meter of snow on top of the ice that was laid down earlier."

"So, even if I w-w-wanted to go out now and b-be there for F-F-Fermat, I c-couldn't." Brains pounded a fist against the console. "D-Damn!"

Virgil's expression was one of helpless commiseration. "I'm sorry, Brains, but yeah. That's about the size of it."

"Th-Thanks for letting me kn-know, V-Virgil." Brains slumped in the command chair, and absently sipped the tea.

"You're welcome, Brains." Virgil paused. "Alan's doing a good job in keeping Fermat and his roommate focused. They'll get out of this, Brains. I know they will."

"I h-h-hope so." Brains muttered. "Anything e-else, Thunderbird Five?"

"Not at the moment, Command."

"Then C-Command and C-Control out."

The sound from Thunderbird Five's feed dropped into the background, to be replaced by the sound of Alan's voice.

"Dude, she was driving the ambulance!"

xxxx

"Thunderbird Two from danger zone."

Jeff and Scott both sat up straighter as they heard John's voice. "Thunderbird One here, danger zone. What's your situation?"

"The patient is nearly ready for transport." John glanced over to where Dr. Harrington was giving Chuck a final once over. "The doctor has determined that we have a burst appendix on our hands, and time is of the essence. By the time you get up here, we'll be ready."

Scott was already initializing the VTOLs as Jeff replied, "F-A-B, danger zone. ETA, ten minutes."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two. Danger zone standing by."

"Well, it's about time," Scott said, shaking his head.

"I told you we haven't been here as long as you think, Scott." Jeff checked his controls. "De-icers?"

"Fully functional. We're good to go." Scott pressed a switch. "Thunderbird Five and Command from Thunderbird Two. Lifting off for the danger zone."

Virgil's voice mingled with Brains's as they both said, "F-A-B."

With ponderous grace, Thunderbird Two lifted skyward into the storm. Lisa Lowe hurried out from inside the hospital proper, followed by her camera crew. It took them a few minutes to set up, but soon her weather-chapped face was being broadcast live.

"This is Lisa Lowe, in North Conway, New Hampshire. Thunderbird Two has just lifted off, en route to Mount Washington Observatory..."

xxxx

Mr. Magnuson climbed into the truck's cab, pulling off his snow-laden cap as he did so. He nodded at Alan and asked, "How are they doing?"

"Maybe you'd better ask for yourself, Mr. Mags." Alan held the watch up so that Mr. Magnuson could see Fermat's face.

"How's it going there, Fermat?" The security chief was upbeat and smiling.

"We're o-o-okay, but c-cold, s-s-s-s-sir. Gonna n-n-need some hot c-c-c-c-cocoa when this is th-through." Even Mr. Magnuson could see Fermat's shivering.

"How's Andrew holding up?"

"A-A-As well as c-c-can be e-e-e-expected, s-sir."

"We're working hard to get you out of there. Just stay awake for us, okay?"

"W-We're t-t-trying." Fermat's teeth were chattering worse than ever.

"Good man." Mr. Magnuson nodded at Alan, who lowered his arm. Then he said in a quiet voice, "Mute it, for a minute, if you can, son."

"I'll be right back, Fermat," Alan assured his friend. He pressed one of the side buttons, and the word "mute" came up on his screen. "I hope he can't see that," he muttered.

"Alan, we've got a major problem, and I don't know how to break it to them." Mr. Mags looked out the wide windshield, past the swishing wipers. "The National Guard can't get out here, not with any aerial equipment. We're waiting on some of the tree trimming services, the ones who work on exactly this kind of problem, but..." He turned to Alan. "I'm very much afraid they won't get here in time."

Alan felt something cold clench around his heart. The idea that his friend might actually die from this had been lurking around the fringes of his mind for a while now, but he had managed to subdue it by talking with Fermat, and watching the firefighters and other rescue personnel cutting the tree apart, one branch at a time. Every branch that fell had fueled his hope, but now, with just a few words, that hope was gone. He found he had nothing to say.

Mr. Magnuson put a chilled hand on Alan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, son. I wish I had better news."

Pulling in both lips, he set his teeth on them firmly and shook his head. _I will not cry. I am a Tracy; I will NOT cry._ But a tear escaped anyway, trickling down his cheek and falling on his sweatshirt.

"Alan..." Mr. Magnuson began. Alan shook his head violently.

"No. They're not going to die. They can't." He turned to face the security chief. "You can't get the National Guard. Fine. There's someone even better."

"You mean the Thunderbirds?" Mr. Magnuson's slight smile was rueful. "If I recall correctly, even they would have to fly some distance to get here. Even at their fastest, they probably wouldn't be in time."

Alan shook his head again, with less force. "No, you're wrong, Mr. Mags. Before I came out here, I saw a news broadcast. They were in New Hampshire at some mountain. I bet they're still nearby. They could get here like that!" He snapped his fingers to make his point. "Call them, Mr. Mags. Please. Don't give up."

Mr. Magnuson rubbed his chin. "New Hampshire, you say?"

"Yeah, and with Thunderbird Two. That's the big workhorse. I bet it could pull that tree off easily."

Mr. Magnuson looked thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded. "Okay, Alan. I'll see what I can do to contact them. We'll keep working here, and you have to keep working, too. Better get back to Fermat and Andrew."

Alan grinned and gave the security chief a quick salute. "Yes, sir!"

"Good man." Mr. Mags clapped Alan on the shoulder, then put on his hat and gloves again, and stepped out into the blizzard. Alan saw him hunch his shoulders as he passed in front of the truck.

Pressing the mute button, Alan called out, "Sorry about that, pal. Mr. Mags needed to talk strategy with me."

All he got was a breathy groan in return. Fermat's eyes were closed, and his head jerked upwards slightly at the sound of Alan's voice.

"Fermat! Hey, Brain, you gotta wake up!" Alan tried hard to keep the panic out of his voice as he shouted. Fermat shook his head and muttered something unintelligible.

"Okay, pal. You asked for it." Hunching up over the watch again, he pressed the button to connect him with Thunderbird Five. "Thunderbird Five from Wharton, come in, Five."

Virgil's harried face appeared. "What do you need, Wharton? Make it snappy; the rescue's at a critical phase."

"Fermat's falling asleep, and I need his watch to put out more volume." Alan spoke quickly and concisely. "Can you fix that from where you are?"

"I... think so." Virgil rolled the control room's chair to another panel. "Yeah. Looks like I can. Maximum gain?"

"Yeah. He has got to hear me and wake up!"

Alan's feet had barely started to tap the floor when Virgil came back. "Try that. And good luck."

"Thanks, Thunderbird Five." Alan paused, then added, "Expect a more official call requesting help, okay?"

Virgil opened his mouth to say something, but what came out was. "Okay. Yeah. I will." He turned his head toward the console again. "Gotta get back to it. Thunderbird Five out."

The picture changed to Fermat again, but didn't show Fermat's face. "Oh, God. He's dropped off, and relaxed his arm." Fear lent volume to Alan's voice as he hollered, "Dammit, Fermat, wake up! Wake the hell up!"

The shouting seemed to have done some good; there was a jerky motion, and some mumbling. Alan kept calling. "Come on, man! You gotta wake up! That's it! Let me see your face, so you can tell me off you... you... wombat!"

The groaning got louder, and the screen showed that the watch was moving. Finally, Fermat's face, his eyes only open to slits, appeared. "P-Pinhead."

"Man, am I glad to see your face... fruitcake!" Alan felt tears of relief pricking at his eyes, and he swallowed heavily. "How are you doing?"

"So sleepy. F-Feel so w-warm now."

"No!" Alan's alarmed shout made Fermat jerk, and his eyes opened a bit more. "Stay with me, Fermat. Stay awake! Don't become a... a... zombie!"

Fermat smiled, a dreamy expression. "I'll t-t-try... dipstick."

"How about A.J.? Can you call for him?" Alan feet were beating an unconscious tattoo on the rubberized mats. "C'mon, geek! Gotta keep him awake, too!"

Fermat seemed to gather himself. His eyes, still heavy-lidded, opened some more, and he angled his face towards the bathroom. "A.J.!" he called. "Hey, A.J.! You o-o-okay?"

There was a muffled mumbling coming from that direction. "I h-hear him... weirdo. Doesn't s-sound good, though."

"Okay, dingbat..." Alan began.

"No f-f-fair!" Fermat's protest brought a pained smile to Alan's face. "No using p-parts of w-words over!"

"Okay... dork."

"M-My turn, f-f-flake."

The epithet made Alan glance up and out the window. He shivered. Almost all he could see was swirling white snow, batted about by currents of wind. "Lots of flakes out here, Fermat. Call A.J. again, okay?"

As Fermat strained to call for his roommate, Alan closed his eyes briefly and sent up an unspoken, fervent prayer. _Please, God, let my dad get here quick! Fermat won't last much longer!_

xxxx

"Calling International Rescue. This is Wharton Academy for Boys calling International Rescue. Please come in. We have an emergency. Calling International Rescue..."

Virgil gritted his teeth. Thunderbird Two was on the mountain, trying hard to get in position for transferring the patient. Winds were strong up there, and even Jeff was having trouble lining up the cargo carrier the same way they had before. Alan's call had only added to Virgil's chores, and now came the call he had been expecting. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, mentally counting to ten as he pushed the tension aside.

"This is International Rescue, Wharton Academy. Reading you strength four. What is your emergency?"

The man's voice lost a lot of its terse tone as he replied. "Oh, thank God. We got through." There was a pause at the other end, as if the speaker was trying gather his thoughts. "Well," he began, "You may not know it or not, but we're in the middle of a blizzard here, and it was preceded by an ice storm. The combination of wind and snow-weight took down one of our old trees, and it smashed into a dormitory. We have several students still trapped up there, and we need to get this tree off in order to get in and rescue them. National Guard aircraft are grounded... and we'd heard your people were nearby."

Virgil waited until the speaker had finished. "Operatives are in your general vicinity, yes, but they're in the middle of a rescue. I will relay this to our commander; he'll be able to give me a better ETA for their arrival at your location."

"Time is of the essence, International Rescue. These boys won't hold out much longer."

"I understand that, sir. We will be with you as soon as our current operation is completed." Virgil checked another screen, one that showed where the call originated. "I have your position marked."

"Is there anything we can do in the meantime?" Whoever was calling sounded as if he understood. "I have a lot of personnel and equipment here."

Virgil paused for a moment. _What would make it easier for Dad and Thunderbird Two to get this tree off the building. Ah, I think I know._ "Can you give me a visual on the situation?"

"Yes, I think so." A window popped up on the screen, and a streaming picture of the tree appeared. Virgil involuntarily let out a low whistle.

"I can see why you need to take this off whole." He gazed at the picture critically. "Taking off some of the horizontal branches at the side would help. Get about halfway up the tree and give us six to eight feet of clear space on the sides. Our clamps will function more efficiently with that done."

"You got it!" Whoever was speaking sounded happy to have something constructive to do. "We'll have it ready for you." There was another pause, and the voice turned pleading. "Just please... hurry."

"We will, sir. I'll contact you soon with an ETA. Who am I speaking with?"

"I'm Carl Magnuson, head of Wharton security."

"Thank you, Mr. Magnuson. Keep this channel clear. I'll be back to you soon."

"Okay, International Rescue. And thanks."

"Don't thank us yet, sir. We still have a lot to do. Thunderbird Five, on standby."

Virgil muted the channel. He stopped briefly to gather himself; knowing that Fermat was among those in the dormitory made his stomach tie up in knots. He then opened communications with both base and Thunderbird Two.

"Thunderbird Two and Command and Control from Thunderbird Five. Come in, please."

Two screens, which had been showing muted visuals of the island command center and the cockpit of Thunderbird Two now same to audible life.

"Thunderbird Two here," Scott said, the camera moving to focus on him.

"C-Command and C-Control here, Thunderbird Five. St-Status update?" Brains was flanked by Tin-Tin and Onaha, and all three looked worried.

"I just received a call from Wharton. They're asking for our help." Virgil paused. "Thunderbird Two, can we... can we leave the current danger zone and help Wharton? Then come back to pick up this patient?"

There was silence in the cockpit, and on the island. Scott's head was turned toward his father, whose clenched jaw had tightened ever further. Finally, he spoke.

"No."

"But this is Fermat." Virgil's tone was half-shocked, half-pleading. "He doesn't have much time."

"Neither does this gentleman," Jeff said. The camera near the pilot's station turned on, splitting the cockpit screen both on Five and at the island. "We have to finish this now."

There was a silence again, then Brains asked, his voice taut and quiet. "Wh-What if it were Alan? Would you d-do the same thing?"

Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and swallowed heavily. "Yes. Even if it were Alan. Or Virgil. Or Gordon. Or John. Or Scott. He is a Thunderbird. Other lives come first." He paused. "And as a Thunderbird, he'll never give up. We'll never give up." With that, he nodded at Scott. "We're in position. Let's do this."

xxxx

In the small space between the bunks, Fermat was finding it hard to think. Something at the back his mind told him this was another symptom of hypothermia; it had been part of his Thunderbird training over the summer break. Alan was still talking to him, and loudly, too, but he wasn't making much sense. Most importantly, Fermat had stopped shivering.

In the bathroom, A.J. was curled up on a ball. The snow and wind weren't so bad here, but the cold was just as deep, and the tree's shifting groans every bit as loud. Under his robe, he had on three pairs of socks, a pair of his own dirty underwear, gym shorts covered by sweatpants too big for him, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved dress shirt, and one of Fermat's hooded sweatshirts. He had the hood up over his still-damp hair, and had wrapped himself in as many towels as he could lay his hands on, regardless of whether or not they were dry. His hands were tucked up under his armpits; the left one throbbed from being jabbed. He was still shivering, and kept listening for his roommate's calls to him. Occasionally, he could hear Alan's amplified voice, muffled as it was.

"F-F-Fermat?" he called. His teeth still chattered some, but that was easing off and he was beginning to feel drowsy. "F-F-Fermat, are you th-th-there?"

All he got back was an unintelligible mumble, and Alan's muffled answer. He wiped his cold, runny nose on the sweatshirt sleeve, and quickly tucked his hand back into its spot. "We're n-never gonna get out of here," he whispered.

_

* * *

Will IR get to Wharton in time? What will happen to Fermat and A.J.? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	78. Unpopular Choice

_Author's note: _Penultimate chapter, with final chapter to follow. One rescue wraps up, and another continues. Thanks to Lillehafrue and Susanmartha for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to a C2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy!

Tikatu

* * *

"Okay, let's go over this again." John didn't have to shout to be heard, not yet. Daniel McCullough was suiting up, getting ready to open the Observatory's garage door to the weather again. Gordon was busy checking harnesses, including the ones that would suspend the floating, all-weather, anti-gravity stretcher between him and his brother. Chuck, the patient, was encased in an inflatable cocoon with a clear panel over his face so he could see and be seen. This particular stretcher cover was made of a lightweight nylon, and was held away from his body with warmed air that circulated around him. There were three layers to the enclosure; a quilted, zippered sleeping bag to conserve body heat, the main inflated layer which actively warmed, and an outer one – also full of circulating air – which created a buffer between the main part of the cocoon and the conditions outside. The outer skin was also weather-proofed against all but the heaviest deluge. Brains had based the idea on some inflatable yard decorations he had seen as a child.

The two nurses were tied in with the stretcher on each side, while Dr. Harrington was also attached to it and positioned behind the male nurse. The grouping itself offered both a windbreak and a steadying force to the floating platform. Gordon checked their connections, then fastened himself in at the rear.

"I'll go first this time, to act as trail-breaker. Again, we'll be working against both wind and Thunderbird Two's backwash. Keep a hand on the stretcher; Gordon and I will be guiding it and making sure it stays on course, but you'll be able to help steady it. Once we're inside Thunderbird Two and unfastened, we'll take you to our sickbay for the trip to the hospital." He turned to Dan. "Are you ready?"

"Ready here," Dan replied with an emphatic nod.

"Thunderbird Two?"

Jeff had been listening in. "F-A-B. Lowering pod now."

"F-A-B." John nodded at Gordon. "Let's go."

Dan opened the heavy garage door, letting in a biting wind that carried bits of ice and snow along with it. John peered across to where Thunderbird Two hovered. It seemed close enough, but as soon as he stepped out into that gale, he soon revised his estimation. The path that Gordon had made earlier had been all but obliterated by the wind-blown snow, and a fresh layer of rime ice made the going more difficult. When he entered Thunderbird Two's back-draft, he was nearly blown over by the cross-currents. One of their charges was knocked off their feet, and John heard Gordon call in his headset, "Hold up, John. Gotta help Doctor Harrington up."

He stood still and held up a hand, making the other two stop as well. He could feel the changes in pull that Gordon's movement and the doctor's fall and eventual righting worked in his harness. Another voice came into his headset.

"Everyone okay down there, John?" Scott was watching them on a viewscreen, keeping track of any minute changes in their position, so he could inform his father. He glanced at Jeff, whose white-knuckled hands gripped the controls tightly, keeping the wind from blowing them too far to one side or the other.

"F-A-B, Scott. We'll be there soon."

Gordon gave John a verbal thumbs up, and the group surged forward again. John willed as much strength as possible in his legs, pushing hard against the crusted powder, breaking it up for those behind him. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he came to the lowered ramp, and waited. As each of their charges made it to his position, he loosed them from the stretcher, and indicated they should get aboard. Once Gordon had reached him, he took hold of one end of the stretcher, reaching his arms back and gripping it firmly. Behind him, Gordon grabbed it, too, and let John precede him up the ramp.

"We're aboard," John said.

"F-A-B. I'm coming down to help." The ramp had begun to close before Gordon was off of it, so he had to step lively in order to join John inside. Once it was closed, John let go of the stretcher, which hovered serenely in one place, and took off his gloves. He was out of breath, and his cold fingers fumbled with the harness fastenings. As he and Gordon extricated themselves from their gear, they could feel the pod moving smoothly upwards, and a loud clank sounded to indicate when they were once a part of Thunderbirds Two's smooth belly.

Having divested herself of gloves and harness, Dr. Harrington took a look in at her patient.

"He's awake, and seems to be breathing well," she said, glancing over at John and nodding.

"Let's get him and you up to our sickbay." Scott had stepped into the pod's interior. He took a minute to help John with the last of the clasps before taking the head of the stretcher. "Gordon?"

"Got it." As Gordon passed by John, he clouted his older brother on the shoulder. "Nice work, 'Fram'."

John's face took on a puzzled frown. "'Fram'?"

Gordon said nothing more, just grinned from behind his helmet's face plate as he helped pilot the stretcher onto the lift.

xxxx

"I c-c-can't believe he s-s-said that." Brains had his glasses off, and he was pressing the heels of each hand into his eyes. "He c-can't possibly mean it. My son..." He broke off the sentence with an almost sob.

Onaha patted his shoulder awkwardly, trying to comfort the engineer. "I'm sure that Mr. Tracy will do all that he can..."

Brains's anguished face hardened into a scowl. "If this had b-been Alan, he w-would have d-d-dropped e-everything..."

"No." Kyrano had silently entered the room, and now spoke, his voice soft but commanding. "He would not shirk his duty to complete a rescue, even were his sons' own lives at stake." He came up beside Brains, who now held his head in his hands. "You know this, Professor Hackenbacker. He has shown you this in the past."

Brains lifted his head. "I've a-also seen h-him d-drop everything and r-run to his son's r-r-rescue – even when that s-son was in o-outer space."

The reminder of the Hood's attack silenced the Malaysian. Tin-Tin piped up. "I'm sure Alan is doing his best to keep Fermat awake, Brains. And... Fermat's tough. A lot tougher than he looks." Her tone was positive, as if no one could gainsay her. "He'll come through this, Brains. You'll see."

Brains's scowl was back. "I h-hope you're r-right, Tin-Tin. I'll s-still have a few w-words for Jeff when he r-returns."

xxxx

"Everyone secured?" Jeff's voice was unusually taut and his words clipped.

Scott made his way to the co-pilot seat. "Everything's F-A-B, Commander."

"Then let's get out of here."

Thunderbird Two rose swiftly, pivoting as it moved in the direction of the hospital. Scott frowned at the altimeter and speedometer. "You're in a hurry."

Jeff said nothing, just upped their speed and rate of descent by a notch, roaring back into the blizzard, driving Two as if his life depended on it. "Get on the horn to the hospital. ETA: five minutes."

"F-A-B." Scott touched the screens that put him in contact with the hospital. He also made sure Virgil could hear what was going on.

The rear cockpit door opened, and John walked onto the flight deck, taking one of the other seats. "Gordon's staying below with the doctor and company. They'll be ready to move as soon as we arrive."

Jeff acted as if he hadn't heard. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Two."

"Go ahead, Thunderbird Two." Virgil's voice rang out.

"Tell Wharton that our ETA is twenty minutes."

There was a pause, then Virgil said, cautiously, "That's... pushing it, isn't it, Commander?"

"There are lives at stake, Thunderbird Five." Jeff was all business. "Unless you want to tell Brains that we took our own sweet time..."

There was silence in the cockpit, and from Virgil. Scott broke it with, "Coming up on the hospital."

"John, swap places with Scott. Scott, help those folks disembark, as quickly and safely as you can. Five minutes or less, please."

Scott and John exchanged glances as they rose. "F-A-B, Commander," Scott said as he hurried from the cockpit. John slipped into the co-pilot position, logging himself in at that station, and keeping an eye on communications.

Thunderbird Two swooped into the parking lot far faster than John thought was safe. Jeff brought the cargo carrier down as close to the hospital's emergency entrance as he could. At their arrival, several well-bundled figures hurried from the building, converging on the Thunderbird. A smaller group was braving the cold and wind – Lisa Lowe and her camera crew.

"Activating camera fogger," John said, reaching out to toggle that switch. "De-icers at maximum."

"We're ready down here, Commander." Gordon's voice came over the intercom, but Jeff already had Thunderbird Two's chassis pulling away from the pod. Through their own inner cameras, John could see the pod's door opening, and the hospital crew waiting for their patient.

"I'll go with them to bring back the stretcher," Gordon said. John saw him start down the ramp behind Dr. Harrington and her nurses.

"No. Get up here as quickly as you can."

"What?" Gordon stopped and looked upward. "But the stretcher..."

"Leave it. It's not important." Jeff hadn't shut down the engines completely and was already powering up the VTOL jets. He nodded at John. "Shut that pod door."

"F-A-B." John's hands moved across the controls on the panels before him. On screen, the door was rising, pulling upright, with Gordon moving off the ramp just in time. "Door is fully closed. Lowering over the pod, now."

As soon as Jeff heard the tell-tale sound that meant the pod was secure, and even before John could report to him that it was, he had Thunderbird Two airborne. Scott and Gordon came onto the flight deck, the former rubbing an elbow.

"That was a pretty quick take-off, Dad," Scott said as he sat behind Jeff and to his right. "Caught me off-guard."

"Why did we leave the stretcher behind?" Gordon asked, frowning. He took the seat behind John. "You're always such a stickler for keeping track of the equipment."

"It's expendable." Jeff's tone was curt. "We have something more important to think about right now."

Gordon shot a look at his oldest brother, who said quietly, "Fermat."

"Yes. Fermat." Jeff's tone was not only curt but grim. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Two. An update, please."

Virgil looked frazzled."Alan's still talking to Fermat, but from what I'm hearing, Fermat's barely hanging on. I have no idea what's going on with the roommate; Alan only knows about him from Fermat's response." He shook his head. "It doesn't sound good, Dad."

"F-A-B, Virgil." Jeff considered for a moment, then asked, "Can we get some visual on the situation? Try to scope out the problem en route?"

Virgil sounded triumphant. "Already got it, Commander. Downloading information right now."

"We should probably bring Brains in on this," John quietly said. "He'll know best how to handle removing the tree."

Jeff was silent, and John figured that he hadn't been heard. "Dad, we should..."

Jeff raised a hand. "I heard you the first time, John, and I agree." The commander's shoulders heaved with his heavy sigh. "I'm just not looking forward to the conversation, that's all." He nodded toward the console.

One of the video screens came up with Mr. Magnuson's recording. "I told them to cut a six to eight foot length on the sides about halfway up. They'd already been cutting along the top and bottom."

"That might be enough..." Jeff shook his head. "Let's get an expert opinion on this." He called to the sons sitting behind him. "Gordon, Scott, get your snow gear on. I'm sure we'll be out in it at some point tonight." Then, he turned to John. "John, get me Command and Control. Time to face the music."

xxxx

"Brrr!" Mr. Magnuson slid into the firetruck's cab again. He pulled his thick scarf away from his reddened nose and mouth, smiling as widely as cold muscles would let him. "You are officially a hero, Alan Tracy. The Thunderbirds are on their way." Taking off his gloves, he began rubbing his hands over the dashboard heater.

Alan grinned. "Wow!" He turned to his watch. "Did you hear that, Fermat? The Thunderbirds are coming!"

Fermat's pale face slowly screwed up into a frown. "Th-Th-Thunderbirds? D-Dad? Is my d-dad c-c-c-c-coming?"

Alan's eyes widened, and he thought fast and hard. "Whoa! Dude! I said the Thunderbirds, not your dad!" He turned to Mr. Magnuson with a worried frown, murmuring, "He's worse than I thought."

The security chief smiled slightly, his bushy, wet eyebrow rising in concert. "Almost every boy thinks his dad is a hero. I'll pass along the information, though, and see if they can't put on a little more speed." With a sigh, he put his gloves back on. "I'd better get back out there. They want us to cut some more branches off for whatever they plan on doing." He poked Alan with a thick, wet finger, then pointed to the watch. "You keep up your end of things here."

"Yes, sir!"

The door opened, bringing in the arctic blast once more, then Mr. Magnuson was gone again. Alan turned back to the watch. "Dude! That was a close call."

"D-Dad?"

"Your dad's gonna be helping, I'm sure, Fermat. Just hang in there, buddy. The Thunderbirds are on their way to save the day."

When Fermat did not respond, Alan put his fingers in his mouth and tried to whistle. But it was a skill he had never really developed, despite his brothers having tried to teach it to him more than once. Instead, he tried to whistle as loudly as he could using the way he did know. It made Fermat blink and scowl.

"You d-d-didn't have to d-d-d-do that. It h-hurt."

"Good!" Alan said with satisfaction. "You have to stay awake. Yell at A.J. for me."

He got a mumbled call in response. "You call that yelling? Try again."

Fermat's next attempt was somewhat louder, but not enough to suit Alan. "Never mind, dude, I'll do it." He got close to the microphone and shouted, "Hey, A.J.! You out there?"

"Ow!" Fermat complained. "A-A-Alan!"

"Well, at least you're not in dreamland anymore. Did A.J. yell back?"

"I th-think so." Fermat's voice petered out into a slurred mutter.

"C'mon, Fermat. Stay with me here! They're coming! The Thunderbirds are coming!" Underneath the frantic verbal call was a fervent shout of another kind. _C'mon, Dad. Hurry up! We're running outta time!_

xxxx

"Command and C-Control here, Thunderbird T-Two." Brains's brittle, no-nonsense tone rang through the cockpit, and his tight-lipped scowl filled a viewscreen.

Jeff took in a deep breath. "Brains, I..."

"Later, C-Commander. After the b-b-boys are safe."

The abrupt dismissal took the wind out of Jeff's sails. "F-A-B. Have you seen the vid?"

"Y-Yes. You'll n-need to clear branches off f-further up the t-tree, n-nearer the c-crown. The laser c-cutters will make short w-work of that. The c-clamps should suffice to p-pull the t-tree out, but you w-won't be able to c-carry it m-much of anywhere with the weight d-distribution you'll h-have. Be sure to t-take it out at the s-s-same angle it went in. Th-Then just pivot it at the b-base, and d-drop it at the end of the d-dorm. Wharton c-can cl-clear it from their dr-drive." The last bit was spat out in the most bitter tone Jeff had ever heard Brains use, but he didn't dare ask after it right now.

"Sounds like a plan, Brains. Thanks. Thunderbird Five, did you get that?"

"F-A-B, and I've already sent the information on to Wharton. What's your ETA?"

"ETA is about 30 seconds, Thunderbird Five." Jeff was already cutting back on Two's speed, powering down horizontal thrust, powering up vertical engines. A final banking turn, and they could see the bright lights that surrounded their target. He guided the cargo carrier into a crawling glide over the dorm quadrangle, sending the other trees into stiff paroxysms, knocking more snow-laden branches to the white blanket below. Cutting the back-draft to minimum, he brought Thunderbird Two to a majestic hover just short of Maplewood.

"John, your snow gear again, and pull out the new camera. You won't be able to use it outside with this wind, but you might find it of help inside the dorm. Gordon, Scott, the laser cutters. Take the rescue capsule down, and release it. I'll get the grabs ready." He turned his command chair around to face his retreating sons. "Be careful. Especially you, Gordon. You've all been on campus recently, and Gordon... you were most recently a student. Avoid people as much as possible."

"F-A-B." "Yes, sir!" "F-A-B, Commander."

With their acknowledgments, the Tracy sons hurried from the cockpit, and Jeff turned back to his piloting.

xxxx

On the ground, above the wind's howl and whine, Alan heard the familiar sound of Thunderbird Two's approach. He couldn't see it from where he sat until the mighty green prow edged beyond the trees. The knot of worry that had kept him bitter company since he had heard the news of Maplewood's disaster untangled entirely. He had never seen Thunderbird Two, and his father, and his brothers, through the eyes of someone waiting for them, someone praying they'd come, watching with growing anticipation for their arrival. But now he did. Now he realized just how much more than physical rescue they carried with them. The relief he felt brought tears to his eyes, and his voice caught as he shouted into his watch, "Fermat! They're here! The Thunderbirds are here!" He whooped, and punched the air... the motion ended with him calling, "Ow!" and shaking the hand that had hit a strut in the firetruck's cab. He glanced at his watch to see Fermat's reaction, and found his screen full of static. "Damn! Did I break it?" A moment's thought, and he realized, "The camera fogger. I can't see Fermat any more!"

Inside, Fermat heard Alan's shout before the picture was abruptly cut off. A smile spread across his cold face, but his muddled thinking still made him think that his father was among the rescuers. He raised his voice, directing it toward A.J.

"D'yah h-hear that, A.J.? Th' Thunderbirds are h-h-h-here! M'Dad's here t-t-t-to r-rescue us!"

A.J. had heard the engines rumbling above the wind, and knew something was going on, but it was getting hard for him to think, too. All he got out of Fermat's slurred shout were the words "Thunderbirds" and "Dad". In his dazed mind, it translated a bit differently, and he muttered to himself, through still-chattering teeth, "Wha's my D-D-Dad d-doin' wit' the Thunderbirds?"

_

* * *

Are the Thunderbirds too late? Will A.J. learn their secret? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	79. Unrelenting Elements

_Author's note: _Final chapter, with Epilogue to follow. The rescue of Fermat and A.J. continues. Thanks to Lillehafrue and Susanmartha for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters; I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to a C2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy!

Tikatu

* * *

"Whoa."

Carl Magnuson briefly forgot the cold and the wet snowflakes pelting his face as he gazed at the massive green Thunderbird hovering overhead. He glanced at the fire chief, a tall, broad-shouldered man named Bryan Reedy. "I can see why some of our students are fans."

Chief Reedy seemed less impressed. "Yeah. I just hope all that fancy equipment is up to the job." They watched as bay doors opened in the Thunderbird's belly, and a bright yellow platform lowered with three men aboard. When it reached the ground, one of them pushed a lever, and the cable detached from the platform, retracting quickly back up into the opening. The doors closed behind it. Floodlights came on from the craft's underside, adding more light to the scene.

Each man was dressed in silvery-white snow gear, trimmed in bright green. Close-fitting hoods surrounded smooth faceplates whose surfaces seemed to almost absorb the flakes that battered them. They were carrying packs which Carl figured were full of gear, and the way they forged their way through the snow gave mute testimony to their strength. Their leader greeted the two men with handshakes. Carl introduced himself and his colleague.

"You can call me John." His own name was common enough, but for this particular rescue, he thought it necessary to disguise his brothers a bit. A brief discussion as John had suited up provided an answer. "This is Malcolm," he said, indicating Scott. He then turned towards Gordon. "And this is... Don. They're going to help clear some of those branches further up the tree. That will enable us to pull it out at the same angle it went in. Then we'll pivot it over, and drop it there." Making a motion toward Thunderbird Two, he went on. "We really don't have time to land at this point, so the pilots will hover and wait for our signal."

"Come with me," Reedy said, gesturing toward Scott and Gordon. "Our snorkel trucks are waiting."

As the three men left, Magnuson asked, "Will you be able to transport victims to the hospital? It'll be faster than ambulance."

John nodded. "Of course." He hefted the pack he carried. "Is there a way to get inside safely? I'll be able to get a better sense of how the victims are faring with my equipment."

Mr. Magnuson nodded. "I'll show you."

As they walked toward the stairwell nearest Oakwood, Carl said, "We have established primary contact with one of the victims, and secondary contact through him with another." He gestured to one of the fire trucks that stood, running, its headlights illumining the darkness. "One of the victim's friends, a fellow student, has a remarkable communications device. A two-way wrist radio and television watch." He snorted and shook his head. "What will they think of next?"

John tried hard to hide his smile. "Here I thought that one had already been invented." He glanced at the firetruck, catching a glimpse of Alan behind the windshield. "Thunderbird Two, there is verbal contact with two of the victims. How many heat signatures are you picking up inside?"

Jeff checked the heat sensors, activated while his sons descended to earth. "I have four, John. They aren't far apart; adjoining rooms, I'd say. Two of them seem to be huddled together, and are picking up as warmer by the sensors." His voice dropped. "The ones in what seems to be Fermat's room are in bad shape."

By this time, John and Carl were inside. "Our equipment shows four victims, in what seem to be adjoining rooms. Two are stronger; they seem to be huddled together for warmth. The other two aren't as strong and are separate."

"The first would be Seth Ames and Kiernan Gilchrist. The other two would be Fermat Hackenbacker and Andrew Trumbull. They're the ones who we have contact with." Carl shook his head. "It's been hard to find a way in. The doors are closed, and there are thicker branches in the way. Getting that tree off will make things easier."

They were on the third floor now. Battery-powered lamps had been brought up, so that those working inside could see. The air was filled with the sound of a chainsaw; two firefighters were making slow but steady progress further down the hall. Branches crisscrossed the space, and the lights, coupled with the hazy exhaust from the gas-powered saws made the whole scene seem eerie and macabre. Though the hallway was mostly out of the wind, it was still bone-chilling cold. Carl called to the workers. "Take a break, guys. Let this gent find out what he can about our boys."

As the firefighters put aside their equipment, John pulled out the softball-sized camera, its usual controller, and a computer pad. He had taken the time to activate the main device with a thumbprint before suiting up, but the remote would need more minute control. Removing a thick outer glove, he revealed a much thinner, form-fitting layer over his fingers, one that kept his fingers both dry and somewhat warm while allowing him more precise movement. "Do you have visual, Thunderbird Two? Thunderbird Five?"

"F-A-B," came Virgil's voice. "I'm shunting the signal to Base as well."

"F-A-B," Jeff said. He made an adjustment on the console before him. "You should be getting visual as well, John."

"F-A-B." The computer pad came to life with a view of the corridor, and a small window opened within John's visor. The discrepancy between what his eyes saw, and what the camera saw was disconcerting. "Here we go." Tossing the ball up in the air gently, it hovered for a moment, then following the directions he gave via the remote, floated gently down the hall.

"That looks like one of those action cams," Mr. Magnuson said, his tone thoughtful.

"A variation of it, yes," John replied, distracted. To deflect further questions, he asked, "Who needs to see what's going on in these rooms? They should be up here."

"I'll take it." One of the firefighters stepped up. Tendrils of curly brown hair escaped the edges of her balaclava. "Dave, call the chief, please. He'll want to see this, too."

Mr. Magnuson glanced at the advancing view on the small computer screen, and nodded. "Let me know if you need anything. I've got to check on the boy who is talking to Hackenbacker and Trumbull and get an update."

"Right." John let his eyes focus only on the view in his helmet, letting that be his way to guide the camera. It was getting easier to see, but harder to control as the camera penetrated the tangled branches.

Outside, "Malcolm" and "Don" were clearing branches as quickly as they could. Their laser cutters put out a prodigious amount of heat, even when using a tight, short beam, so neither of them could complain about the cold – at least, around the upper parts of their bodies. The faceplates darkened considerably when the lasers were employed, and return to a clear view often took longer than Scott liked. _At least they're not covered with snow, or fogged up with my breath. I'll have to talk with Brains about the auto-dark..._ "Whoa!"

A strong gust of wind shook the snorkel bucket he was standing in, throwing him off-balance. The laser cutter was jarred from his hand, and he instinctively reached for it. He missed by a fraction of an inch; a good thing, too, as the cutter had turned and the end he would have grabbed was the laser. It fell onto the bark and splinter-covered snow, its programming cutting power as it hit the ground.

Scott swore under his breath, not caring if his father heard him. The only person who seemed to be nearby was a newly-arrived EMT, helping her partner secure a hypothermic firefighter to a stretcher. She saw the cutter drop, and, with a word to her partner, hurried over.

"Be careful!" Scott called. "The power's off, but it's probably still hot! Grab it by the handle, and avoid that red button!"

She picked it up gingerly, and glanced up at him. Beneath her hat's deep fold, her eyes widened, giving her a shocked expression. Scott didn't give it much thought, just leaned over a bit and asked, "How's your throwing arm?"

"Pretty good, actually." The voice sounded somewhat familiar, but again, Scott didn't think about it, putting it down to distortion from the wind.

"Then let's see how good. Toss it up here... please." He smiled, though he was sure she couldn't really see him.

"Okay! Catch!" With a mighty heave, the EMT flung the cutter skyward. Her aim was good; Scott easily reached down to catch it.

"Thanks!" he said, giving her a quick salute.

"You're welcome... flyboy!" With that, she turned, and hurried to rejoin her partner.

Scott took a few moments to check over the power settings and other controls. As he did, something began to clamor for attention in his head. Sudden realization swept over him, and he turned sharply in the direction the EMT had gone, nearly losing the cutter again. He fumbled for it, held on tight, and peered through the bright snowstorm, looking for the woman who'd helped him out. She was already out of sight.

Shaking his head slowly, he muttered to himself, "Nah. Couldn't have been her."

"Couldn't have been who, Scott?" Jeff's voice sounded in his ear.

"Uh, nothing, Dad. Just thought I saw someone I knew." Scott shook his head again. "It couldn't have... but..."

"But what, son?"

"Nothing, Dad. Just nothing." But inside, Scott was cursing himself out. _Oh, God. She called me "flyboy". It didn't look like her, but her voice... It had to have been her. Dammit, it __**was **__her. It was Sable, and now... she knows. Oh, God, I'm __**so**__ dead._

xxxx

"But, Virge, isn't there any way to get the video part back?" Alan couldn't see Virgil any more than he could see Fermat, but he could talk to him, and argue about the sudden video cut off.

"Sorry, Alan." Virgil was trying hard to coordinate all the different feeds he was getting from the field. "We haven't fixed that bug quite yet. Now, listen to me. You're not going to like this, but it's gotta be done. For us to keep our cover, you're going to have to sign off with Fermat. The camera fogger is supposed to take out _all_ comm devices beyond our own and recognized emergency frequencies. This includes your watch. Sign out, and tell people we've cut you off."

"But Fermat! And A.J.! What about them?"

Virgil tried to put as much comfort behind his voice as he could. "Don't worry. Brains will take over for you in keeping them awake, okay?" He didn't tell Alan the main reason Brains had insisted on the change.

"I-If something... p-p-permanent happens to my son," Brains had said, swallowing heavily, "I w-w-want the last v-v-voice he hears to be m-m-mine."

"But I'm his friend!" Alan knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"And Brains is his dad. No one has more incentive to keep Fermat awake than he does." Virgil glanced up at one of the screens showing Thunderbird Two's feed of the danger zone. "Now, someone's approaching you. Remember: _we_ shut your watch down."

Alan sighed, and opened his mouth to reply. But the door suddenly swung open, and Mr. Magnuson slid into the cab, pulling off his hat and gloves, shaking moisture from his dark hair.

"How's it going, Alan? How are Fermat and Andrew doing?"

The anguish on Alan's face was real when he held up his watch. "I don't know, Mr. Mags. I... I think the Thunderbirds jammed my watch. I can't reach Fermat anymore."

"Hm. That's a problem." Carl glanced at the emergency radio. Reaching up, he increased the volume. The muted chatter now became audible, and he shook his head. "Why your watch and not the radio?"

Alan shrugged. He figured that, even as the Thunderbirds' "number one fan", there were things he wouldn't know about the organization. "I know they don't like having pictures taken, and they do something about it when they go to a rescue. It's probably part of that." He sounded so down and forlorn that Mr. Magnuson patted his shoulder.

"One of their men is inside the dorm. I'll talk to him, see what he can do to help us help him." He held his reddened hands over the cab's heater and rubbed them together. "After that, I'll take a break to warm up. Some of the firefighters haven't been taking breaks like they should and a couple are on their way to the hospital with hypothermia." Shaking his head, he added, "That's why I'm so worried about our boys; if big, healthy, active men succumb to this, those younger boys – especially Andrew and Fermat – will be even worse." He glanced over at Alan's stricken face. "Alan, there's always hope, even in seemingly impossible situations. That seems to be what the Thunderbirds specialize in. So, hold on to hope, and – if you believe in a power higher than man – it won't hurt to send up a little prayer." Patting Alan on the shoulder again, Carl put gloves and hat back on. "I'm off to see what we can do about that watch. Be back soon."

"Yes, sir."

The door opened again, and Mr. Magnuson was gone. Alan slumped back, feeling the tears prick his eyes again. "Virge?"

Virgil's voice was soft. "I heard, Al. I heard. Even though the media isn't out there, the story has made the local news. There are even pictures and vid taken and uploaded by the students, so I doubt Dad will turn off the fogger." He snorted a light laugh. "At least Lisa Lowe is stuck in New Hampshire. I bet she's hopping mad she can't get down there to cover things." Another voice made itself apparent in the background. "Uh oh. That's your Mr. Magnuson calling. Gotta get back at it. Go ahead and keep your end open, if you want, but I'm muting on this end." He paused, then said, "Stay warm and safe, Al. Don't give Dad anything more to worry about, okay?"

Alan swallowed and sniffed. "Okay."

"Promise?" Virgil sounded insistent.

Alan sighed. "I promise."

"Good. Holding you to that, bro. Thunderbird Five out."

Alan stretched. The cab felt empty now, and the only things he heard were the official chatter from the radio and the wind buffeting the sides. He pulled his jacket closer, even though he really wasn't cold, and turned the volume up on the radio. His summer training had included learning the codes that various rescue personnel used in talking with each other, and soon he became absorbed in translating what was going on – not just before him, but in places other than Wharton. _Damn, but this storm is causing havoc! It's a miracle that the squads are still working here, and not called somewhere else._ He thought about what Mr. Magnuson had last said, and closed his eyes briefly. _God, if you're there, please, please, please don't let Fermat or A.J. die. I don't think I could take it. Please let them be okay._ A moment's pause, and he added, _Thanks, from Alan_.

xxxx

"S-Son."

Fermat stirred a little at the voice.

"F-Fermat."

This time the stirring was accompanied by a little whimper.

"Son. W-Wake up. C'mon, s-son. Wake up f-for me."

"Uhh." Fermat blinked.

A shrill whistle pierced the air, jolting Fermat into semi-wakefulness.

"S-Stop it, Alan. Th-Tha' hurt."

"It's not A-Alan, son. It's me."

"D-Dad?"

A touch of tension left Brains's shoulders when he heard Fermat respond. "Y-Yes, son. I'm here." Part of him cursed the bug in the watch software that kept him from seeing his son, while another part was already thinking of ways to overcome the flaw. He shushed them both with deliberation. "I'm here, F-Fermat. How are you?"

"I f-feel... warm, Dad. You gonna come 'n' g-get me?"

"Soon, F-Fermat. V-Very soon." A stray thought that there was another life involved surfaced. "How is A-A-Andrew? Can you c-c-call him?"

"Y-Yeah. I thin' so."

The call out was feeble, and strain as he might, Brains could hear no response in the background. He had the volume set to maximum there in the control room. Virgil had set the microphone gain in the watch as high as it would go. Brains could hear his son's slow breathing, and it worried him.

"C'mon, F-Fermat, stay awake for m-me. R-Rescue is c-coming. Hang in there."

"You comin' to get me, Dad?"

Brains gave Onaha, who sat nearby, a worried glance. She nodded. "Tell him yes."

Swallowing, he said, "Y-Yes, son. I'm c-c-coming. Stay awake and w-wait for me."

They could almost hear Fermat's smile. "G-Goo'. I'm w-waitin'."

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Brains replied, "I love you, Fermat."

"Love you too, D-Dad."

Onaha put a hand on Brains's shoulder. "Keep it up. Keep talking to him. Talk about anything. I'll get you something to drink."

Brains nodded in response, then settled down, searching for something to say that would hold his son's interest.

"Where's m' Mom?"

The question took the engineer by surprise. He didn't talk much about Fermat's mother, mostly because the memories of their parting were too painful. _Now_, he thought, _maybe I should tell him about her._

"I don't know where sh-she is, s-son," Brains admitted.

"C'n you get 'er? I w-wanna see 'er."

"I... I'll t-try, F-Fermat." It was all he could think of to say.

There was a pause on the other side, and Brains began to fear the worst. His relief was almost palpable when Fermat responded, "Goo'. Wanna s-see 'er. You comin' t' rescue me, an' Mom c-comin' t' see me."

Onaha, who had returned with a tray, gave Brains a questioning look. He shrugged, a helpless gesture. "Didn't know what e-else to t-tell him."

"Keep talking." Onaha poured iced tea for Brains and for herself. "Keep him awake."

"R-Right." He drained off half the glass, then went back to his all-important job.

xxxx

"Thunderbird Two from Scott. We're done here, Commander."

"F-A-B." Jeff watched as the snorkel trucks moved their long arms away from the tree's near naked trunk. It was still slick with ice and snow, but many of the branches had been cut away and lay in piles on Maplewood's walk and steps. "Let's move this sucker off there. John, how are things inside?"

John put the camera back in his pack. "I managed to get the camera into the second room, where two of the boys are huddled for warmth. One of them has a broken arm, and the other seems to have an eye injury. I couldn't get the camera into the first room; but was able to get it up to a small hole. One of the boys is huddled on a lower bunk, but the second isn't anywhere in sight. The information we have is that he's in the bathroom."

"Then we'll take it slow. I'm sending Scott up with both laser cutters to help get through those doors. Gordon's going to help direct the grabs."

"F-A-B." John turned to Cheryl, the firefighter who had been watching the camera feed with him. "My people will be coming up with our cutters. We should get through the doors fast."

"The chief says we have a team waiting on the other side, so we'll attack both rooms at once." Cheryl informed him. "It's been hell waiting to get them out."

_You don't know the half of it_, John thought as he zipped up the pack.

xxxx

The cab door opened once again, and Mr. Magnuson slid into the seat beside Alan. He looked as weary as he looked cold but he was upbeat as he took off hat and gloves again.

"They're about to move the tree," he said, rubbing his hands together. "After that, things should move quickly."

"It's felt like hours since this all happened," Alan said, arching his back to stretch the muscles.

"I know it has, but things moved pretty quickly once the Thunderbirds got here." Carl didn't want to voice his concern that it had been too long for the boys inside. "You did your best, Alan. Your quick thinking will have made a difference here; you'll see."

"I hope so." Alan's eyes followed Thunderbird Two as it edged forward, belly doors opening. A triangular grab appeared, let down by the same cable that held the rescue platform. One of the branch cutters – Gordon, by the look of him – was directing the pilot from the ground. The other cutter had alighted from the fire truck's bucket and had picked up the second laser. Alan guessed from the long, loping stride he used that this was Scott. In seconds, both operative and equipment had disappeared through Maplewood's side door.

"What happens when they get them out?" Alan asked. "Are any of their parents here?"

"When the boys are freed, that's when the fun stuff really starts." Mr. Magnuson sighed. "No, Alan. None of the parents are here. In fact, we haven't even called them yet. Policy is for us to wait until students are en route to the hospital... which is what happened with you, if I recall. All parents had to sign a paper giving us what's called 'limited power of attorney', so doctors can give emergency treatment in situations like this. If we had to wait for them to show up..." He shook his head. "Fortunately for us, Ms. Bell was still on campus when the tree fell. She went to the hospital with the first ambulance. She'll be there to represent the school."

Alan frowned. "How will they get to the hospital? I mean, an ambulance is going to take time in this weather." He had the vague idea of riding with Fermat.

"Well, that's one thing we don't have to worry about. The Thunderbirds have agreed to take them." Mr. Magnuson looked out, then glanced back at Alan. "I just hope they have a medic with them." At seeing Alan grimace, he added, "I'm sure they have qualified people for this. Your friends will be in good hands."

_I know that,_ Alan wanted to say, _but there's no way I can ride with them_.

Carl drew Alan's attention back to the window. "Look! They've got the clamp on the tree!"

Indeed they did. The clamp was securely settled, sharp edges digging deep into the frozen bark. Gordon had moved out of the way, and Thunderbird Two began pulling up and back. The cable was at an angle; the movement of Two kept it at said angle. Slowly, the tree rose, pulling free of its confines, shedding branches and roofing as it moved.

Inside, Fermat felt the whole bunk bed rise with the impaled branch, and made a semi-articulate sound of alarm. His father shouted for him, but he couldn't hear over Thunderbird Two's engines. Finally, the branch pulled free of the splintered paneling, but it hauled A.J.'s mattress and bedding up with it. This, too, was loosed by the jagged edge of the roof, and it fell to the ground, muddy and wet.

Cheers erupted in the hallway as the thick tangle withdrew, leaving behind twigs and small logs in its wake. John had his laser primed and ready, and before the tree was fully clear, raced to cut Fermat's door. Scott was already at work on the other room.

What greeted John and the other rescuers was a bedroom in shambles, but no sign of Fermat. The bunk bed had been tipped and was resting on the edge of what had been a wardrobe. The mattress had been flung to the floor in the space beneath.

Working on a hunch, John told his companions, "Clear that bed out of the way, and lift the mattress. I'll start working on the bathroom door." He didn't even look back when he heard cries of, "Careful!" and "There he is!" sounded out behind him. He kept his focus trained on the space where he knew Andrew was – though, if asked, he would have said something about heat signatures, and left Alan out of it entirely.

"John, how are things going?" Jeff's voice was still tight with what John recognized as badly-disguised worry.

"I'm almost finished cutting through the bathroom door. One of the victims has been found; not sure of his condition yet." He crouched to move the laser across the width of the door. The hole he cut was big enough for the first of the EMTs to get inside; one of them, a young woman, stopped briefly to look him in the face. She frowned, then stepped in behind her partner.

"Hey there, Jazzman," he heard her say. "You still with us?"

John finished cutting the door completely off so the EMTs could get in and out easily. Then he turned to see what condition Fermat was in.

The EMTs were clustered around, giving their assessments. John could catch half of what they were saying, and none of it sounded good. The lights had been moved into the room, casting weird shadows on both rescuers and victim alike. Fermat's eyes were closed; his face was pale and lips were bluish. One hand kept a stiff grip on his blankets. Behind him, John heard the female EMT call out, "We have a live one here."

Cheryl, who was relaying instructions to and from the chief, said, "So do we." She looked at John pointedly. "Don't you have a sick bay or something to prepare?"

With a sigh, John nodded. "Yes. Thank you for the reminder. We'll be ready when you are." With that, he turned and left, meeting up with Scott in the hallway, and stopping only to pick up the equipment pack.

_

* * *

What will happen to Fermat and A.J.? Did Sable really recognize Scott? What will Jeff say about that? Will Brains and Jeff fight? Will Alan get to ride with his friends? Stay tuned, same FAB time, same FAB story!_


	80. Epilogue: Unfinished Business

_Author's note: _This is it. The end... for now. Tying up some loose ends, leaving others for later. It's a long chapter, but then, it's been a long five-plus years! I want to thank all my readers and reviewers, especially those like Cathrl, Susanmartha, and Digi-girl who caught errors I made and brought them to my attention. I appreciate that beyond words. Many thanks to my betas, Lillehafrue, Susanmartha, and my late good friend, Hobbeth.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

I hope you've enjoyed it. Happy New Year!

Tikatu

* * *

"Where have you been all this time?" Dom asked as Alan came back in. "You look like you're freezing!"

"Nah. I'm not too bad." Alan's face was red and moist; it was hard to tell if it was chapped and wet from the cold, snowy winds or something else. After Fermat and A.J. were found, Virgil looked at the vid and heat signatures from the site. Discovering that Alan was alone, he gave his brother the jubilant news.

"Alan! They're alive!"

That's when Alan finally broke down in tears, sobs born of relief and thankfulness.

Things moved quickly after that. The four victims were transported to Thunderbird Two, carried up two at a time as fast as the winch could safely move. Once they were aboard, the cargo carrier slipped away, gaining speed as it left the area. Jeff turned the piloting over to Gordon, with Scott as co-pilot, stretching his cramped hands. John stayed in the sickbay with one local EMT per victim. On seeing who was in there, Scott warned his brother to keep his helmet on.

With the departure of the Thunderbirds, the locals began breaking down their equipment and moving on to other locales. Mr. Magnuson finally drew Alan out of the firetruck's cab to escort him back to the dorm. Before they parted, Carl put his hands on Alan's shoulders.

"You're a hero in my book, Alan Tracy. You thought fast, worked hard, and helped save the lives of four people. I'm going to make sure the school administration knows what you did tonight."

Alan shrugged. "I did what I had to, Mr. Mags, like everyone else. I just had a little more at stake than they did." He looked down at his now snow-dusted jeans. "Can you keep me in the loop as far as Fermat and A.J. are concerned?"

"I will. I'm heading to the hospital now to give Ms. Bell some back up. I'll text or call later." He squeezed the boy's shoulders. "They'll survive this, Alan. Believe it."

Alan nodded and went inside. Now he was dry again, wearing sweats and t-shirt, lying on his bunk, sipping a soda and munching on pretzels. He'd missed dinner, which had been sandwiches transported to the dorms. Curfew wasn't too far off; he was amazed that it wasn't the middle of the night.

There was an urgent buzzing at the door; Dom opened it to a wide-eyed and exuberant Jason. "Pinky! Pinky! You are not gonna believe what I heard!" He waved his arms frenetically; his face was full of wonder and excitement. "The Thunderbirds! They were _here_! _Right here_! At Wharton!" He clapped his still-gloved hands together. "Isn't that _so_ cool! Don't you wish you could have seen them! I sure do!"

Alan had rolled onto his side to watch Jason. He smiled, a slight, amused expression.

"Yeah, Jase, I wish I could have seen them."

xxxx

"That's Mr. M-Magnuson." A weary Brains grimaced. "Now, I h-have to pretend I d-don't know what h-happened."

"Not necessarily, Brains," Onaha said kindly. "You did try to reach both Fermat's phone and Alan's. Didn't you even call the school at some point? Being a frantic parent who couldn't get in touch with your son..."

He nodded. "I c-can do that. Still p-pretending, though."

She patted him on the arm. "You'll do fine. I'll get you something light to eat. Then I'll let Mrs. Tracy know that Mr. Tracy and the boys are on their way back. I'm sure she'll want to prepare them a meal."

"Th-Thanks, Onaha. For e-everything."

She smiled at him as she left. He took a deep breath before opening his phone. "Y-Yes?"

"Professor Hackenbacker? This is Carl Magnuson from Wharton Academy."

"F-Finally! S-Someone who can tell me what's going on! I've been t-trying to reach my son f-for hours now! C-Can't reach his friend, Alan, either!" It wasn't much of a stretch for Brains to sound frantic.

"Calm down, Professor. Let me fill you in on what's been going on. Your son is in the hospital right now..."

xxxx

"Uh, Dad?" Scott was dreading this conversation but thought it would be easier to bring the subject up in private. He stood in the door of Thunderbird Two's tiny galley.

Jeff looked up from where he was filling a travel mug with fresh coffee. "Yes, Scott?" He handed the mug to his son, before starting to fill another. "What's up?"

Scott looked pained. "Remember what you said about being careful because some folks know who we are at Wharton?"

His father stopped pouring the coffee, deliberately putting the pot back in its place. "Yes. I do. Very clearly. What about it?"

The oldest son gritted his teeth and drew in a breath. "Well, I was careful; I really was! But I met someone unexpected and... I think she recognized me, Dad."

Jeff sighed heavily. "Who is it, son?"

Swallowing, Scott replied, "The... um... lunch lady I dated that once."

"The Goth? What was her name? Satin or something?"

"Sable. Sable de la Croix." Scott took a sip of his coffee, and then frowned.

"That's Gordon's cup." Jeff took it from Scott's hand, placing it on the counter. "Where? What were the circumstances?"

"Uh, I accidentally dropped a laser cutter and she tossed it back up at me. I didn't recognize her at first; she was wearing an EMT uniform ... in fact, she was one of those on-board for the transport. But she sounded familiar and ... she called me 'flyboy'." He sighed. "She called me that on our date, too."

Jeff looked thoughtful. "She's an EMT?"

"Apparently," Scott said with a shrug. "Might explain why she ran out on our date."

"Hm." Jeff went back to pouring coffee. When he was done, he handed both cups to Scott. "Take these up to your brothers. If you're sure she made you..."

"I'm almost positive," Scott replied, an unhappy tone in his voice.

"Okay. I'll have someone look into her background, figure out how to approach her." When Scott hesitated, he said, "Go. We'll discuss this more later."

Scott went, leaving a bemused Jeff shaking his head as he refilled the pot for another brew. "A Goth lunch lady EMT. Only Scott."

xxxx

Fermat thought he smelled vanilla. He didn't know why, only that he did. Someone was touching his head, brushing his hair away. There was a soft beeping in one ear, rhythmic and familiar; someone was trying to tell him something in the other, but he couldn't quite make out the voice. He opened his eyes a little, shutting them quickly again because of the light. There was the sudden realization that his mouth tasted nasty, like he had vomited. Something tickled at his nose and lay across his cheeks. But best of all, he realized he was _warm_. It felt so very, very good to be warm.

He opened his eyes again, letting them adjust. Everything was blurred, but this didn't bother him - he knew he didn't have his glasses on. Someone with a dark face was nearby. It was a familiar face, but it didn't register who it was at first. The connection came to him, so he rasped out, "Ms. Bell?"

"Hello, Fermat." The vanilla smell grew stronger. "How are you feeling?"

He raised a hand to rub his nose only to find it splinted. "Nose i-itches."

"You have an oxygen cannula in there, Fermat. Don't disturb it."

"Where am I? Where's my d-dad?" His lips felt cracked and stiff.

Marilee Bell pushed his hair away from his eyes again, smiling at him. "You're at the hospital in Pittsfield, and your dad is on his way. It'll take him a while to get here because of the blizzard. There are still airports shut down."

Something came to him then; the memory of a muffled shout that prompted him to ask, "A.J.?"

"In the bed beside yours, sleeping. He asked for you earlier." Ms. Bell's attention was diverted. "Ah, here comes someone who'll want to speak with you."

"Well, hello there, Fermat." The voice was hard to place at first, but soon registered as Mr. Trumbull's. "How are you feeling?"

"W-Warm. Thirsty."

Art chuckled. "Well, I'm glad to hear the first and I think we can do something about the second." Fermat could hear Ms. Bell pouring water into a cup, while someone, probably Mr. Trumbull, raised the head of the bed a bit. She put a straw to his mouth, encouraging him to drink slowly.

"Better?" she asked.

Fermat nodded, feeling sleepy. He yawned, and found his face hurt. "Ow."

"That's from the frostnip you have on your face," he was told. "It will hurt for a while. Dr. Swanson will be in later to talk to you about what happened, and what will happen in the next few days."

"Days?" He shook his head. "I have s-school."

"Don't worry about that now, Fermat." Mr. Trumbull's voice was getting softer, as Fermat's eyes drooped closed. "Just get better."

His last conscious thought before falling asleep was about his dad ... and his mother, who were coming to see him.

xxxx

The student assembly had been convened for just after breakfast. Classes had been canceled for the fourth day running, as the blizzard had dumped well over a meter of snow on the region before moving toward Maine and Canada's maritime provinces – or so the meteorologists said. The reminders of Maplewood's destruction were fresh: piles of branches still lay on its steps and walkways, while the majority of the tree rested at the far side of the dorm, half-covered in snow. Holes in the roof and walls and windows were undisturbed. Deep tracks could be seen under the fresh powder where rescue trucks and personnel had been. Evidence of the Thunderbirds' visit still existed, too, though it took some study by the student experts to figure out just what those signs meant.

Alan kept to himself for a while, still staying in company with his friends, but not saying much. Both his father and Brains had told him what happened to Fermat and A.J. How both boys had suffered from severe hypothermia – so severe it had required a cavity lavage to bring their core temperatures up again. How they both were dealing with first and second degree frostbite and would for a while yet. He heard that Brains was coming to be with Fermat as soon as the state of emergency was lifted, but Scott was flying, not Jeff. It seemed that relations between the two fathers was strained due to Jeff's decision.

"I asked him what he would have done in that situation," Jeff told his youngest son. "He still insists that we could have gone straight to Wharton when we heard about the call, and then come back to pick up that appendicitis patient – who, by the way, will make a full recovery." He shook his head. "I don't know how to convince him otherwise."

"Maybe you shouldn't try," Alan said with a shrug. "Neither of you are gonna back down; you're both too pigheaded. So find a way around it instead. Make a plan if this kind of thing happens again."

"Did you just call me pigheaded?" Jeff asked, eyebrow rising.

Alan shrugged again. "Yeah. I guess so. It's true though. It's where I get my stubbornness ... and where Fermat gets his."

There was no mistaking the melancholy in Alan's tone. "Do you miss Fermat?" Jeff asked softly.

His son nodded. "Yeah. I miss him a lot. He probably missed me, too, when I was in New York. But ... I didn't nearly die. He did. I want to see him soon."

"I could ask Art Trumbull to pick you up. He was lucky to be conferring with Palmer Wolfe at the time and was nearby. If he can't, Brains and Scott will probably take you when they get there - that is, if the boys are still in the hospital." Jeff's tone was both certain and reassuring. "This 'state of emergency' ... I hear that it's lasted up to three weeks in years gone by." His voice turned wry as he added, "Scott has some other business to take care of when he gets there."

Now Wharton's auditorium was as filled as it was going to get. Alan slumped in his theater-chair, seated between Jason and Xavion, his arms folded across his chest. Ms. Belvedere took the stage, placing a single sheet of paper on the podium before her. She was dressed in sleek, warm trousers, a turtleneck sweater, and her Wharton blazer.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for being prompt. I will get right down to business." She looked over the assemblage to see that she had their attention. "All Maplewood residents from rooms unaffected by the incident will be able to remove their personal possessions today and tomorrow, under escort by members of our security and maintenance personnel. Boxes and bins will be provided, as will temporary storage facilities. Those whose rooms were affected by the incident will find your belongings – what we were able to salvage of them – in rooms 210 and 212 of the Student Union." She paused to cast an eye over the boys again, quelling the restless reaction to her words. When things were quiet again, she continued. "A number of permanent room reassignments will be announced and those students involved may move their belongings tomorrow, starting after the noon meal."

She touched her glasses to adjust them. "Because the statewide emergency precludes our teachers from traveling to the school, regular classes have been suspended for the time being." At this, one of the students rose to his feet and whooped, punching the air over his head. He quickly subsided when hauled back into his seat by his grinning friends. Ms. Belvedere did not look impressed. "Please control yourself, Mr. O'Connell." A wave of chuckles and light laughter swept the room, so she waited for it to die before clearing her throat and going on with her instructions. "However, before you become too giddy with free time, there are homework assignments that should be in your email boxes by the end of the school day. This will continue until the emergency is lifted, and your parents can arrive to retrieve you."

Taking off her glasses, she laid her hands along the edges of the wooden podium. "Wharton Academy has suffered some severe blows over these past months. Many students have been removed by their parents and I am sure others will be, too, after this last disaster. We need the opportunity to regroup and repair both our facilities and our image. So, as soon as the emergency is considered over, an extended period of off-campus learning will commence. You will be able to complete the semester's classes, along with taking mid-term examinations, from home, and we hope you will return after the New Year to start the spring semester. Please take this time to enrich your studies with reading, excursions, and other educational experiences."

She turned to Mr. Magnuson, who had stepped up to the stage. "Mr. Magnuson has a few words to say."

They exchanged places, Ms. Belvedere taking her piece of paper with her. The security chief had a data pad that he laid on the podium's surface.

"Good morning, men." He waited until the response died down before speaking again. "As you know, the disaster of two days ago resulted in injuries to several of our students. I'm pleased to announce that all of them are responding well to treatment, and should make full recoveries in time." He shifted his weight a little bit as he consulted his pad. "As Ms. Belvedere has told you, we'll be helping you clear your gear out of Maplewood this afternoon. Dress warmly; we have left the heat at a minimum so pipes don't freeze or burst." Lightly scratching his head behind an ear, he added ruefully, "That would be the last thing we need right now."

"Now, as to safety issues. Both the dormitory and the academic quadrangles are off limits. There are still branches falling from time to time and we do_ not_ want to risk more injury. The parking lots are also off-limits; there are some staff cars buried in there that we'll be digging out. If you want to play in the snow, the athletic fields have just as much as the rest of the school with no trees. We will post guidelines on keeping warm and recognizing the signs of both hypothermia and frostbite in yourself and your fellow students. These are no laughing matters, men, but serious threats. Anyone suspected of suffering from cold-related ailments needs to head to the infirmary. We expect you to take care of yourselves, and each other, while having fun. This means no shoving snow down anyone's pants!"

The boys either laughed or cried, "Awww!" at this announcement. Mr. Magnuson put his hand up for quiet. "Listen up. The storm has passed, but things are still dangerous. Remember that there's a layer of ice under all that snow, so stick to the cleared paths when going from building to building. Stay out of Maplewood. No one should have any business in there once we've cleared out everyone's belongings." He paused, shaking his head. "These are common sense things, men. I feel like I shouldn't have to say them, but it's good to have a reminder. If you have any questions, ask before doing something potentially stupid."

The auditorium was quiet. He cleared his throat. "One last thing. On the night of the incident, we had a lot of people here working to rescue those trapped in Maplewood. Firefighters, rescue units, EMTs, and even the Thunderbirds were here, doing their part. Some of you came out to gawk. Some came out and took pictures, providing our local news stations with dramatic footage. One young man came out to see what happened to his friends, and - in doing so - helped save four lives. Alan? Where are you?"

Alan slid down in his seat, hoping that he'd avoid detection. He'd never before wanted to be invisible. Being a Thunderbird meant being incognito. People would thank you, but you couldn't really acknowledge or boast about your accomplishments to the world at large. He used to hate it because he couldn't crow about his family's heroic deeds. Maybe being a Thunderbird himself had changed that in him. Now, knowing he was going to be recognized, he wanted to sink through the floor. _What I did wasn't all that special._

Zave leaned over to him. "Man up, Pinky, and take the adulation you deserve."

"If you don't stand up," Jason hissed, "we'll haul you to your feet by your hair."

"I'm gonna have Sable think up something more embarrassing to ask you," Alan muttered as he rose slowly to his feet.

Mr. Magnuson beamed. "Alan Tracy, using a remarkable piece of his father's technology, kept his friends Fermat Hackenbacker and Andrew Trumbull awake while they waited for rescue. He also suggested that we call in the Thunderbirds, having heard earlier that they weren't too far from Wharton. Without his quiet, dedicated work, those last four boys might not have made it." He paused to give more weight to what he was about to say. "Sometimes, the biggest heroes are the ones who just never give up."

He began to clap. Ms. Belvedere began to clap. Slowly but surely, the applause swept across the audience. Whistles were added, and then cheering. Alan's face flamed red. Zave got up to smack Alan's back. Someone behind him gave him a friendly shake. Jason and Kay insisted on high fives. Finally, he sat down, rubbing his forehead as a subtle way of hiding his burning face.

When he glanced up again, Ms. Belvedere had taken the podium again. "I'm sure we'll here more about Mr. Tracy's doggedness in the future. For now, gentlemen, you are dismissed."

Alan sat still while his fellow students filed out. Zave and the others acted as a buffer of sorts, but there were still a lot of students who wanted to give him a high-five or touch fists together. There was an equal number who were content to call out, "Thanks!" or "You rock!" or even "F.A.B.!" in good-humored fun. A few rolled their eyes or just ignored the little knot of friends. One young man with nut-brown hair came deliberately down the row in front of them, stopping in front of Alan to hold out his hand.

"Hey, Alan. I don't think we know each other. I'm Adam Ames."

Alan took Adam's hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here." Adam smiled, his face reflecting both relief and nervousness. "I wanna thank you for what you did. My younger brother was in the room next to your friends'. He broke his arm trying to fend off branches." He shook himself. "He said he could hear you yelling through ... whatever it was you used to talk to Fermat. It kept him and Kiernan awake. I'll have to thank Fermat, too. At first, he was yelling at his roommate to put on dry clothes and stuff. It helped my bro remember some of his first aid courses." Sighing, he swallowed, his voice sounding quavery when he next spoke. "Kinda scary to think you might lose your brother because of some freak accident, know what I mean?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. I do. Is your brother doing okay?"

"Seems to be, last I heard. He had to have surgery on his arm once they warmed him up."

"Whoa," Zave said. "Sounds serious."

"Where are your parents? Are they coming out to see him?" Jason asked.

"We live in the Finger Lakes area of New York; it's not too far, so hopefully they can get here within the next day or so. I heard that Seth can't be discharged without a parent or guardian on hand." Adam shrugged. "I guess we'll see how the doctors handle it." He shuffled from one foot to the other. "I just wanted to say thanks for what you did."

"You're welcome. Glad it was helpful."

Adam gave the little group a wave. "See you around." He eased himself out of the row and left.

The auditorium was all but empty now, so Alan could be forgiven if he jumped at the sound of Ms. Belvedere's voice.

"Alan."

He turned toward her. She was at the top of the section, three rows up from where he and his friends sat. She smiled at him, a surprisingly pleasant expression.

"I have been impressed with your growth over these past weeks and months and this last incident showed how far you have come from the boy who daydreamed of Thunderbirds in his classes last year. You have done very well, Alan. You have made Wharton proud. I may even say that you have made me proud. Please continue to do so." She nodded at them. "Good day, gentlemen."

Kay waited until she was out of earshot before letting go with a low whistle. "Whoa, Pinky. You managed to impress the dragon."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad one," Alan said as the group moved out of their seats and into the aisle. "It's a lot to live up to and I think life as a paragon would be pretty boring."

"Then let's go do something fun!" Jason was grinning, looking for all the world like a prank-planning Gordon.

"What did you have in mind, Jase?" A wide smile spread over Qaeshon's face.

"How about zombie snowmen in front of the Administration Building? You know, with heads cut off and stuff? I saw some in this old comic strip book..."

xxxx

It took another two days for the state of emergency to be lifted. Logan International was cleared before then, so Scott landed there instead of the more local Pittsfield airport. He brought along not only Brains, but Tin-Tin and Onaha as well. Onaha intended to shop for new clothes, both for herself and her daughter, and was eager to see her very first snow. They did some shopping in Boston, staying overnight at a hotel. The next day, Scott was informed that Pittsfield's runways were back in service, so they headed out to bring both Alan and Fermat home.

First matter of business, however, was to drop Brains off at the hospital, where Fermat was still undergoing treatment.

"D-Dad!" Fermat reached out splinted hands when he saw his father.

"F-Fermat!" The grin on Brains's thin face couldn't have been any wider. He embraced his son and held him tight; Fermat pressed his cheek to his father's chest so hard he picked up an impression from his father's shirt buttons.

They parted and Brains said, "Let me l-look at you."

Fermat was wearing his glasses and no longer had an oxygen cannula. Healing scratches marked Fermat's skin in spots while a butterfly bandage kept a deeper wound on his cheek closed. His splinted fingers, glistening with ointment, concerned Brains. Other than that, he looked well, if a little pale. When he noticed his father looking at his hands, he shrugged.

"They put aloe cream on. The splints are to keep the skin from b-blistering too much and the blisters that are there from r-rubbing. I'm to k-keep my hands and f-feet elevated."

"Ah, I s-s-s... understand." Brains glanced over at the other bed, where A.J. lay curled up and sleeping. "How is A-Andrew?"

"About the s-same as me."

They were silent for a moment, both with questions to ask, yet no comfortable way to broach the subjects. Finally, Brains rose. "Who is your d-doctor? I should g-go find him and ask when you c-can be discharged."

"'Her'. Dr. Swanson is a 'her'." Fermat sighed. "She reminds me a lot of Dr. H-Hatoshi. Only t-taller."

"That b-bad, huh?" Brains asked, his tone light and joking.

"Well, maybe not _that_ bad." Fermat looked down at his hands for a moment, his thoughts a million miles away.

"Well I'd b-better go f-find her." Brains turned to leave but a soft question from his son stopped him in his tracks.

"D-Dad?" Fermat's tone was hesitant. "When is Mom coming?"

xxxx

Onaha's eyes were wide as she saw the banks of snow piled up by the sides of the road. "Some of these are taller than I am!" she exclaimed in wonder.

Scott grinned. "Yeah. The plows tend to stack it up like that. But this was a pretty impressive snow for this area of the country. Now in the Rockies, the snow can get a lot deeper."

"Which causes avalanches, right?" Tin-Tin asked. She glanced at Scott, her eyes bright, and watched his smile fade. "Oh, Scott! I'm sorry! I didn't think..."

"It's okay, Tin-Tin. You'd think I'd be over it by now and not just because it's been so long." His tone sounded melancholy. "I've even rescued people from avalanches. It's just ... I don't like talking about them."

"We understand," Onaha said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently. "I just can't imagine that much snow in any one place."

They turned onto the campus, stopping first at the entry gate to let the security guard know of their arrival. They picked up visitor passes, driving slowly as Wharton's drives were still covered with well-packed snow. "What's that?" Tin-Tin asked as they passed the Administration Building.

Scott glanced over to see where she was pointing. "Those are ... snowmen. I think. Really weird snowmen."

"I'd say someone has a rather macabre sense of humor," Onaha added, her tone dry.

"I wonder why the administration hasn't taken them down yet. Oh da ... uh, sorry Onaha." Scott cut off his swearing as he saw the entry to the dorm quadrangle was closed. "This is _not_ good. Now where do we go?"

There was a muted knocking on the driver's side window. As Scott rolled it down, a cold-reddened David Culp leaned in. "You can go around that way, Mr. Tracy. Park behind the dorms."

"Okay, thanks!" Mr. Culp withdrew; Scott closed the window and drove on.

"Oh my," breathed Onaha. The parking lot took them past the side of Maplewood where the tree – now in the process of final demolition by chainsaw – lay. Those in the car could catch a brief glint of the bright blue tarp covering portions of the dorm's roof and plywood-filled windows. Clearing of the road and walkways in front of the damaged building had already begun.

As they came around the corner that separated Maplewood and Oakwood, Tin-Tin let out an awed, "Ooh! Look!"

There, in the space between the buildings, was a massive snow sculpture of Thunderbird Two ... or what the boys thought Thunderbird Two looked like.

"Heh." Scott snorted a wry laugh. "We'll need to get a picture of that. Virgil will have a cow, though; they have the wings on wrong."

"They must not have asked Alan about it," Tin-Tin said, nodding.

"I'd bet they did ask him." Scott sounded amused. "And he deliberately mislead them."

"I just want to know what they dyed it with." Onaha shook her head. "It looks like food coloring to me ... lots of food coloring."

"Alan will know," Scott assured her.

But Alan wasn't in his room. "He's gone to help A.J.'s dad sort through the stuff salvaged from Fermat and A.J.'s room," Dom told them. He had an especially bright smile for Tin-Tin. "He showed me a picture of his family, once. You were in it. Have to say it didn't do you justice."

Tin-Tin blushed a little. "Thank you."

"Where can we find this place?" Onaha asked.

Dom told them. A few minutes later, they were at the Student Center, where they found Art Trumbull and Alan pawing through bags of soggy clothes.

"Hey, Scott! Hi, Onaha, Tin-Tin!" Despite the depressing aspect of the job, Alan was chipper. "We're almost done here." He turned to his co-worker. "Have you met Mr. Trumbull yet?"

Art introduced himself, pulling off a rubbery glove before shaking hands. "Nice to meet you, but sorry it took this..." He indicated the mess with a wave of his hand and said nothing more.

"Have you seen Fermat yet?" Alan asked, pulling out a uniform shirt and checking the size on it. "Whew! This stuff smells so musty!" He put the shirt in a laundry basket behind him. "Fermat will probably have to buy all new clothes after this."

"Nonsense." Onaha found a pair of gloves for herself and waded into the piles. "I know how to get musty smells out of clothes; I have to, seeing as we live in a climate where wet and sweaty is most of what I see. As long as there is no actual mold or mildew ... well, you'd be surprised what a little clear ammonia will do."

"We haven't seen Fermat yet, Al. We just dropped Brains off and then headed over, hoping to find you all packed up, ready to go." Scott folded his arms.

"Sorry about that, Scott." Alan didn't sound sorry at all. "I figured I'd make good use of my time off by getting Fermat all packed up. After all, he probably won't have time to do it himself."

"Is anyone hungry or thirsty?" Tin-Tin deftly diverted a possible disagreement between the brothers. "Maybe Scott and I could get something from the snack shop for everyone ... if it's open, that is."

"I have a better idea." Onaha was in full command now. "Scott, you find the nearest grocery store to buy some laundry detergent. I'll write down brand names for you. Then find a laundromat where we can get these clothes cleaned." She turned to Art. "I'd be happy to help you out in that respect, Mr. Trumbull."

Art shook his head. "Thank you very much, Onaha, but I'm just going to replace everything that is ruined. I'm mostly sorting things out to see what he'll need and salvage any books or computer hardware..." His voice dropped off as he picked up a picture frame. Holding it out to Alan, he asked, "Is this Fermat's?"

Alan took it, inspecting it carefully. "I don't remember seeing this." He turned it over, touched a switch, and then flipped it to the front again. The back-lighting wasn't very bright, but the first dim photo made Alan hand it back to Art. "It's A.J.'s."

"I see." Art smiled softly as he gazed at the picture. "I didn't know he had this. Wonder where he got these pictures of us."

Onaha asked, "May I?" Art handed it to her. "Oh, I can see how A.J. favors you. Is this your wife?" She held it out for Scott and Tin-Tin to see.

"My ex-wife, yes. Andrew's mother." He shook his head as Onaha gave it back. "Those were happier days."

There was an awkward silence before Onaha said, "All right. Back to work. Scott, off with you. Bring back something to drink. Tin-Tin, help Mr. Trumbull with his list making. Alan, you're with me." When Scott didn't move, she made shooing motions at him. "Off you go!"

"Yes'm," Scott said, giving her a salute before turning on his heel and all but marching from the room.

Onaha shook her head as he went. "I just hope he doesn't get lost." She turned to Alan. "Now, tell me about that Thunderbird snow sculpture. Just how much food coloring did the artists use?"

xxxx

John settled back into his desk chair. It felt good to sit on something that was actually padded; the metal seats on Thunderbird Five were bare, though he had become used to sitting in them. He sighed with satisfaction as he read from the screen before him.

"_Fram_, a Norwegian schooner, was designed by Colin Archer to be used in conditions at found at the North Pole, where it could survive the pressure that freezing ice put on a ship's hull. It was later used by Roald Amundsen on his historic trek to the South Pole." He shook his head. "I guess Gordon figured it was an early ice breaker. A compliment, in its own slightly twisted way."

There was a knock at his door. It opened to reveal Gordon, wearing a short drysuit.

"Hey, John. Come surf with me?"

John smiled. "Yeah, I guess so. Get the dune buggy ready, and I'll meet you down beyond the pool."

"All right!" Gordon pumped his fist once and hurried off.

"Now," John said, turning back to his computer. "What obscure old surfer can I come up with?"

xxxx

"Well?"

Brains pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up as he did so. "I d-don't know, son. I have no idea wh-where she is."

"Then wh-why did you tell me she was c-coming?" Fermat sounded both hurt and betrayed.

"I... I thought it would be b-b-best in your c-condition at the time. I wanted to r-r-r... soothe you and k-keep you from panicking." With a sigh, he added, "I h-hoped you wouldn't remember."

"Well, I did r-remember."

There was a long silence. Brains looked at his hands, rubbing the back of one with the thumb of the other. Fermat wanted to do the same, but the splints made it difficult. Finally, he spoke. "Dad?"

"Yes, s-son?"

"Is m-my mother dead?"

This startled Brains, but he shook his head vehemently. "No! Of c-c-c-c-course not!" His surprised exclamation quickly spiraled into ambiguity as he considered the thought. "At least, I d-don't think so. If she had d-d-d-d... expired, I'm s-sure someone would have t-t-told me."

"It's just that you n-never talk about her." Fermat snagged a tissue from the nearby bed table to wipe his nose. "Didn't you l-love each other?"

"W-We loved each other very much, son. It's j-just..."

Brains's next words were interrupted by a light knock on the door. A.J. stirred, blinking and sitting up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist. Without waiting for a reply, an older woman walked in. She was of average height, with smooth silver hair and dark brown eyes. She wore the emerald green scrubs and white coat that marked the doctors at this hospital while the embroidered name on her coat proclaimed she was Dr. Lydia Swanson. A young man followed, dressed in sky blue scrubs, the color that the nurses wore.

"Good afternoon, boys," she said in a cheery voice. Seeing Brains, she came over to offer her hand. "I'm Dr. Swanson. You must be Mr. Hackenbacker."

"Y-Yes," Brains replied, shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too." Indicating the nurse, she said, "This is Patrick." As the two men shook hands, she pulled the curtain around them and consulted her notebook computer. "So, how are you feeling, Fermat? Any pain? Throbbing? Tingling?"

As the two went back and forth with questions and answers, Patrick made sure there was water and ice in a pitcher before pulling out supplies to reapply the cream. Dr. Swanson concluded her examination with removing the splints and looking at the space between Fermat's fingers. Brains could see the clear blisters that had formed all over his son's hands.

"Okay, Fermat. You let Patrick change the dressings and put on more cream while I talk with your father."

Fermat nodded. Patrick got to work as Dr. Swanson pulled Brains aside.

"Your son is very lucky, Mr. Hackenbacker. His core body temperature was very low, low enough that we had to use internal warming to bring it up to normal. Even now it's still a bit low, but well within a normal range. Of course, while we were warming him up, we couldn't treat the frostbite, so his feet, hands, and ears stayed cold longer than I would have liked." She consulted her chart. "The danger from hypothermia is well over, but the danger from frostbite continues. It takes time to determine the damage incurred by the kind of level two frostbite he suffered, weeks, sometimes even months, and I understand you live far enough away that bringing him to me for rechecks is impossible." Glancing up at him, she asked, "Do you have a family physician I can refer him to?"

Brains quickly nodded. "Y-Yes. Dr. Sumi Hatoshi." He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I h-have her contact info h-here."

"Good. I'll see to it she gets his records." Dr. Swanson fixed Brains with a steady gaze. "Frostbite is a serious condition, Mr. Hackenbacker. Some of the resulting symptoms, like pain in the extremities, sensitivity to heat or cold, and arthritis can last for years."

"I understand, D-Doctor."

"I hope so." She consulted the notebook again, entering Dr. Hatoshi's information as she spoke. "Now, I suspect you want to be home for Thanksgiving."

"It would be p-p-p... nice."

"If I released him tomorrow, would that do it?" Dr. Swanson shook her head. "I'm terrible with time zones."

"Um, a-a-a-actually, it would have to be t-today for us to g-get home in time." Brains put his phone back in his pocket. "We can f-fly through the night as we'll have th-three pilots, but we have to c-cross the International D-Date Line."

"Hm." It was obvious Dr. Swanson didn't like the suggestion. "I'll see what I can do."

Patrick came up to them, shucking his purple gloves. "I'm done with Fermat. Should I start on the next patient?" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating A.J.

"Yes, Patrick. Go ahead."

"Will you be p-performing the same treatment?" Brains asked. "If so, could I w-watch? I would likely be d-doing w-wound care on my son."

Patrick glanced at Dr. Swanson, who nodded. Brains smiled and went to wash his hands thoroughly. _It will give me time to think of what to say to my son – because I know the subject of his mother is going to come up again, and soon._

xxxx

Onaha and Tin-Tin were at a laundromat, washing as many of Fermat's clothes as possible. Alan was back in his room, packing at last. And Scott? He had that unfinished business to take care of.

xxxx

Classes had been cut short at Berkshire Community College because a few of the professors were still unable to make it out. Sable didn't mind; it meant more time to study her lines for the play she'd be participating in next month. It wasn't a huge role by any means, but she had some of the more intense lines and she wanted to be sure of her phrasing and timing. Besides, she'd been called in to work at Wharton, even though it was her day off. With classes off early, she'd have time for a good lunch and a nap, if she was lucky.

She was so absorbed in mentally reviewing her lines that she didn't notice the expensive SUV parked in front of her little pick-up. She did, however, notice the man who put his hand over hers as she reached for the door handle. Looking up, she cocked a wry eyebrow at Scott Tracy.

"Can we talk?" he asked, smiling.

"About what?" she replied, opening the door to sling her backpack and purse inside.

He moistened his lips a little, trying to hide his nervousness. Finally, he said, "About our unscheduled meeting during the blizzard."

Her breath caught in her throat. _Damn! It was him. His face, his voice ... still, I only saw him once. I wasn't sure. If I'd been able to watch him walk, maybe then I'd have known. The other guy ... it was easy to see that wasn't him. His build, the way he moved ... nothing about him was the same. But what does he want? They're so secretive ... maybe this will be trouble. Better deny it._

Swallowing, she made herself relax before asking, her voice level, "What meeting?"

His eyes widened and his smile faded. _Damn! I was sure she'd recognized me. Why the hell would she have called me "flyboy"? Unless, maybe that wasn't her ... no, it had to have been. I'm not mistaken. I know it was her! But what do I say? I can't really go into it further, not if she really didn't know it was me. Better just go._

He shook himself, regaining his smile. "You don't remember? Well, then, maybe it wasn't you I saw. I was certain it was, and that you recognized..." His words trailed off when he noticed a sticker on the back window of the truck's cab. "Hey, you're an EMT. I didn't know that."

Suddenly uncomfortable, she replied, "Uh, yeah. I am."

He was a little more sure of his footing now. "Is that the duty you referred to when you ran out on our date?"

His question relieved her worries. "Oh, yeah. I'm sorry about that. I owe you a dinner."

"And you have a rain check on the movie." _I still need to bring this back around so I can know for sure if she recognized me._ "Were you working at Wharton when that tree fell over?"

"Well, yeah, but I got called in before the dinner hour, so I worked with the ambulance instead of in the kitchen. In a situation like that, the EMT comes first." _What is he getting at? I need to end this conversation; I'm freezing out here!_

_Let's try this. _"So, what did you think of Thunderbird Two? I mean, it's pretty impressive, isn't it? Has a well-equipped sick bay, too, I'll bet."

She nodded. "Well, yeah, it _is_ impressive. Really awesome. Great sickbay, too."

"So, you got to ride in it?"

_What __**is**__ he playing at?_ "Yeah, they needed people to ride with the kids to the hospital. I, uh, volunteered." She gave him a saucy smile. "I mean, who wouldn't, y'know?"

"Oh, I know. I hear it all the time from Alan." Scott rolled his eyes dramatically. "How much he'd love to work with the Thunderbirds. For the longest time, it was all we heard." He backed off a little bit. "Well, I've got to go. Gotta go see Fermat at the hospital. I hope he'll be able to come home soon."

"Yeah, that would be good. Wouldn't want to miss Thanksgiving with the family, right?" _Whew! I thought he'd never stop!_

He started walking to the driver's side of his rental car. _Time to go out on a limb here. _Just as she opened the door to her truck, he said, "I bet that Thunderbird guy was thankful you tossed his cutter back up to him. You'd think a flyboy like that wouldn't let a little bit of wind shake him."

"What?" _What did he just say?_ "Wait!" He stopped just at the driver's side mirror. She scowled at him, "Where did you hear about that?"

"About what?" _Now, will we get the truth?_

Sable didn't answer. Her truck's door was half open; the icy breeze seemed to cut through her warm leggings. _Maybe ... maybe I should just fess up here. I mean, yeah, he's arrogant, but I don't think he's mean. I doubt he's gonna do anything, except maybe swear me to secrecy or something._ She sighed. "C'mere so we can talk in my truck, okay?"

"Okay. Sure." Scott came over to obligingly hold her truck door open for her, and then closed it behind her. She briefly entertained the notion of locking the doors and backing out, but he cut off that idea by moving so quickly he was in her truck before she could turn it on.

They sat looking at each other for a bit, when suddenly Sable vehemently folded her arms across her chest. "Okay! I'll admit it. I thought I recognized the guy that I tossed the laser to and I thought it was you. I wasn't going to say anything to anyone but you've been so damned persistent in dancing around the damn bush!" She glared at him. "Now tell me: was it you or not?"

Scott fidgeted a little in the passenger's seat, taking in a deep breath and letting it out forcefully before nodding and saying, "Yeah. It was." He tugged at a sleeve of his down jacket, a nervous gesture. "It took me a bit to recognize you and realize you'd made me. You look really different without all the make-up." He sighed. "Eventually, the penny dropped and I knew I was in trouble."

They were quiet for a moment, both trying to think of what to say next. Sable broke the silence. "So, you're a Thunderbird."

"Yep."

"What do you do, besides cut things up?"

He grimaced. "I really can't talk about it. Not unless..."

This piqued her interest. "Unless what?"

He paused, trying to think of how best to say what he was going to say. "Well, unless you take the position I'm about to offer you."

Sable's jaw dropped. It remained dropped for a full sixty seconds before she snapped it shut, blustering, "What? You ... you want me to be a Thunderbird? Oh God! This is _so_ not cool! I mean, I'm only an EMT-Intermediate! I'm a student! I have plans! You want me to drop them and run off with you? No way! I ... mmph!"

Scott ended the kiss, leaving Sable blinking in shock. "Now, listen," he began. "First of all, we're not asking you to be a Thunderbird _per se_. We have a different job in mind for you. One that shouldn't interfere much with your life as you live it now, but would be a big help when we needed it." He eyed her warily. "Do you want to hear more?"

She nodded, so he continued. "Okay, we have a group of people - discreet, observant people - who keep their eyes and ears open and help us if we need them. We call them agents. Some of them have specific duties, like watching for laws that would hinder our work. Some help us out if we need translation in a foreign country, or liaison between us and local rescue services, or find us good places to land where our vehicles will be secure. Those kinds of things."

"Sounds interesting." Sable seemed to have recovered. She pulled lipstick out of her boxy black handbag, turning the rearview mirror in her direction to apply it. "Go on."

"Well, you'd continue your studies, your work, whatever. Just be on call when we needed you, ready to do whatever we asked."

"Would I have to relocate or anything? And what would happen when I graduate? I don't intend on staying here in the boonies, y'know." She put the lipstick away, puckering until the dark color had covered her lips easily. She glanced at Scott before digging into her purse for a tissue. "Better clean up."

He pulled the mirror toward himself to see what she meant. Rubbing at the makeup with the tissue, he kept talking. "You wouldn't have to relocate while you were in school, and we'd keep you on after you graduate, no matter where you went." He paused, deciding to dangle a bit of bait. "There's a stipend involved, too."

"Money?" Sable's interest had grown exponentially. "You mean I could quit that dead-end job at Wharton?"

"Well, maybe not." Scott knew he was stepping in deep, but she had to know some of the details. "There's someone – actually two someones – at Wharton that we'd like you to keep an eye on."

She thought for a moment before nodding. "I bet it's Blondie and Specs, right? I mean, those two must be so much trouble for you..." Something clicked and her eyes widened. "Waitaminnit. Blondie is _your brother_. You're a Thunderbird. Does this mean that ... that he's more than just a big fan? Or do you all you Thunderbird guys need protection for your families?"

"You ... are right. About the first thing. Alan and Fermat are both involved. They're in training to be Thunderbirds, but we think they need to be in school away for a variety of reasons."

"'We'? Who is this 'we'?" She had her arms folded again, giving him a thoughtful look.

Scott shook his head. "Nope. Not going any further until you give me an answer. I've said too much already."

She considered his words, raising an eyebrow to give him a speculative look. "Would I get to see you on a regular basis?"

He started, surprised by her question. "Maybe not regular, but ... we could work something out. I do want to visit my brother more often."

"Hm. Helping out the Thunderbirds, getting paid for it, continuing with my life as it is and as I've planned, seeing you more often ... The only drawback I see is the job at Wharton, but then again, I kinda like those kids." She looked thoughtful for another moment.

"You wouldn't be able to tell anyone. We'd swear you to secrecy."

She flapped her gloved hand. "Pfft! I knew that."

Scott held his breath; the last thing he wanted was for her to say "No" and go off to sell their secrets to Lisa Lowe. _The background check was positive; she seems to be a good kid._

"I guess the answer would be ... yeah. I'd like to be an agent."

Scott let that bated breath out his nose, relaxing as he smiled. "Good." He held out his hand, intending to say a hearty, "Congratulations!" or something of that sort. Sable, however, had other ideas. She took his hand, used it first to pull him towards her to kiss him as thoroughly as he'd kissed her earlier. Pressing forward, she backed him up into a half-reclining position against the passenger side door, with her leaning over him. When they parted, she smiled, a sultry look, and all that Scott could do was breathe, "Welcome aboard."

xxxx

Late afternoon found the rental car filled with Alan's packed clothes and books. Fermat's clean things and the other salvaged items had already been taken to the plane, stored in new suitcases or storage containers. They had a set of clean clothes sitting in the back for Fermat to change into; Dr. Swanson had authorized his release after watching how deftly Brains handled the next application of aloe to Fermat's hands and feet. While he was applying the cream, Brains said, "S-Son, I know you w-want to talk about your m-mother. I d-do, too, but I'd like to g-get home before we do. There are photo albums that we can l-look at together. I'm s-sorry for deceiving you about your mother c-coming. Please be p-patient with me; talking about your m-mother is kind of p-p-p-painful."

Fermat wasn't happy about his father's request but he did accept the apology. "At least I know she's not d-d-dead."

Brains remained silent after that remark. The idea that Fermat's mother was dead and no one had told him was playing on his imagination. _I'd better talk to Jeff about this. As angry as I am at him, I need to find out where she is and he's the one who can help me._

"Ready, Alan?" Scott looked at his brother and Tin-Tin, who were sitting behind him and Onaha.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go home."

As they pulled out and away from Wharton, Alan looked back at the entrance to the campus. "I'll be back," he whispered. "Just try and keep me away."

xxxx

"Calling International Rescue. Calling International Rescue."

The light jazz cut out as the call came in. Virgil, who had started to put the station on automatic for the holiday, groaned. He left his bags by the airlock before returning to the console. It was the worst time for a rescue; not only because he didn't want to miss his grandmother's and Onaha's cooking, but also because Gordon and John were on their way up, and Scott was on his way back with Alan and the rest. There was no one at home but Jeff and Kyrano.

"International Rescue here. What is the nature of your emergency?"

There was some noise in the background, like someone arguing with the speaker. "Shut up, Benji, and let me talk to the man!" The voice came back to him, stronger than before. "Um, no emergency, really, International Rescue. I'm Sadie Sunday, head of custodial services at Memorial Hospital in North Conway, New Hampshire. We've been sitting on one of your floating stretchers and we're wondering when you're going to come and pick it up."

Virgil blinked. He was speechless for a moment. Sadie spoke again, "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?"

"I'm here, Ms. Sunday. Just a little surprised, that's all."

"Well, please come get it soon. I have no idea what to do with it and it's cluttering up my storage area."

"We will, Ms. Sunday. We'll send out a representative very soon."

"Okay, young man. You just make sure that whoever you send asks for me and only me. I've had to keep it locked up so the interns don't take it out to try snowboarding with it."

Virgil cut the mike and began to chuckle, a chuckle that grew to a full-blown guffaw. He laughed for a good long time, until Sadie started clamoring for attention again.

"I apologize, Ms. Sunday. We appreciate you taking such good care of it. Someone will be in touch with you and only you, probably after Thanksgiving."

"Well that's good to know. I'll be waiting for them. You have a nice holiday, young man. Happy Thanksgiving!"

"You, too, Ms. Sunday. You, too."

_~Fin~_


End file.
